Taking Orders From Nobody
by cheddarbiscuit
Summary: Her reply was delayed. Her voice was smaller than ever before, he wanted to claim he had misheard her, because what she said chilled him to the bone, "I had a strange dream last night."
1. Prologue

Taking orders from Nobody

Disclaimer: Do not own.

Another thing that has been sitting in my computer for a while. I only have about six chapters written, though.

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><p>Prologue:<p>

A void was a strange place to find a stain glass pillar.

Jak, as any mostly good person would do, checked the soles of his shoes for grime and gore. They were strangely spotless. He could have sworn they had been dirty before. Really dirty, actually. Yes. He had trekked through Haven Forest, getting them caked an inch upwards with mud, and then he had gone to the pumping station after-wards, getting sand in the mud and pebbles in the treads, and there was never a day that went by without him getting blood on his shoes.

Strange that they were completely clean now, dirt should be falling off in chunks, and sand should be shedding like glitter.

He bowed his head and held his fingertips to his forehead, he could not remember how he had gotten there. He had just been... He had been walking around Haven City with Keira, and then he had been simply pulled away from it all, flung across the ocean and plunged in, only to wind up in this void.

He was dreaming.

No wonder his shoes were clean!

Yes. Of course. That was why Daxter dissolved on his shoulder and Keira hand been turned to dust at his side, and all of the city shattered like a mirror.

Right. Clean shoes. Dreaming. Now that that was well established, he could focus on the more important things. Like, why he dreamed a stained glass pillar in the middle of a void. Or why the dream had wound up in the void, and why he had gained lucidity _earlier_ so he could be back in dream-Keira's apartment right now.

Or the garage.

Or at least have her on this pillar.

"That's right." He said to himself. This place had great acoustics, "This is my dream. She'll just appear if I want her too."

_Jak,_ a voice poured directly into his mind, _Jak we don't have time for these shenanigans._

"WOAH!" Jak spun around, scanning the darkness, and then the pillar for any sign of anyone else. He noticed a hand, wrought in iron and filled with marbled and waving glass, spilling from it were small, narrow, pink shells, the contouring lines were a hair's width, and the glass faded from a pale yellow to a rich pink. The craftsmanship was incredible.

He followed the hand to the arm, and upwards to the shoulder, then to a neck, framed by deep sea colored curls, and a heart-shaped face with green eyes and slanting eyebrows that betrayed sympathy for the world.

It was Keira.

"Damn it, this _isn't_ what I had in mind."

_Jak we don't have time for this!_

"Even in my _dreams_ I can't get anywhere with Keira!" he threw up a hand, half-heartedly. "Just when I have some control over things, _poof_ here comes a genie that _still _screws me over."

_Damn it Jak!_

_"_Oh shut up it's just a dream anyway."

_Jak this is not a dream. This is a serious issue. The world is in danger._

_"_Oh, I get what this is." He groaned in frustration. Some stress-related dream a head-shrink he could not afford would analyze into little, deeply meaningless pieces. Great. "Look, mysterious voice, if the world is in danger—yet _again_—I'll handle it. I just sent the Metalheads running—Seriously, it was last Thursday. I can handle whatever you have to throw at me, too."

The voice seemed to huff in annoyance. It was a nondescript noise, much like the voice itself, featureless, more of a figment of his mind. Three items appeared and hovered in the air about chest-high; a red and black shield, a blue and green club, and a blue and gold sword.

_Which will you choose_?

Well, Jak had never quite mastered _beating people up with shields._ The entire concept was alien to him. He had never truly encountered shields before; they were just artifacts from a time he had missed, they had gained popularity when he went through the rift—and very short-lived, too. They were clumsy things, war trophies made from the husks of fallen metalheads, with little utility value—the carbon based, semi-metallic plates grew brittle and decayed quickly after death with out an addition of polymers. Anything sword-like had never been his forte. He just did not like the hassle of keeping them sharp, and when faced with a heavily-armored foe, it was too much to have to think about how to do damage by finding the one little slit between two plates. He had never used a sword before. He had never managed to get on in the past, Sandover Village had never had a blacksmith, and no one used them to the future. It was a gun or blunt force trauma for him. Anything else was too clumsy or too skilled.

So he chose the club.

The voice, though featureless, sounded a little perturbed and surprised, so what was supposed to be cool and authoritative came out slightly unsure. _The... power of the mystic? Inner strength...? A staff of wonder and ruin...? Is this the power you choose?_

Jak shrugged. He was never one for fancy talk—he was just going to bop people with it. Rather than say it, he just muttered, "Yeah."

_Very well._ The club vanished. _Now, which will you give up?_

_"_Well." Jak looked from the sword to the shield, "Everyone always says the best defense is a good offense, and I've never been given a reason to disagree, so..." He gripped the handle. This time, the voice did not sound too shocked. _The power of the guardian. Kindness to aid friends. A shield to repel all. Is this the power you give up?_

"Yeah." Jak replied casually. It vanished, too, "Weird."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jak saw a shadow glide across the glass. He turned towards it, and it stopped. It had a definite shape to it, like whatever owned it was directly above it though Jak could not see it, a round head that was much larger than its body, willowy, pointed fingers, solid, pointed feet with no toes, and a pair of all-seeing yellow eyes. He took a long moment to observe those eyes. They glowed, the yellow from them shone onto the tips of his boots, and his hand when he stretched it out. He reached down and touched it, but all he felt was glass. The shadow jumped suddenly and went away, then circled him. Two more showed up.

"These things?" he asked, "These are the new threat? I can't possibly be afraid of them! They're so..."

Something sharp, like a set of claws, swiped across his back. Jak threw himself forward and caught himself on his hand, gasping a little in shock and pain. It was just a dream, right? How could this hurt him? He looked back as one of the shadow-creatures finished its arch in the air and landed on the glass floor, this time with depth. It looked around, twitching as it did so, hunching down like a scared animal that some horrible person had given too many stimulants, and focused on him again.

The club appeared in his hand. It was light weight. He balanced the long grip in his hand and bounced the head of it against his left palm. Too light to do any real damage. It was so strangely shaped. It reminded him of something, but he could not figure out what, exactly. For the time being, it looked like two smaller circles stuck to one larger one, like a little drawing of a water molecule, but why would _that_ be on a club?

_It's a staff._

"Same thing."

A second one had moved now. It had cozied right up to him and had clawed at his boot. Jak hardly felt it this time, but he was not about to underestimate it again. The marks on his back still stung from the first one. He kicked it away. He reminded himself that the pain was just as fake as everything else, and not to be afraid.

_You should be afraid._ The voice whispered too him.

"Well I'm not." He said. He reached for his gun, but could not find it. "Where is my gun?"

_Useless._ The voice answered. _It's useless._

But at least he had the club. He swung at the first one that came to him, and the staff made it go a small distance, but it did not seem to do much damage. It righted itself and came right back for him.

"Well this is bullshit."

_You should have taken the sword!_

"I don't know how to _use_ a sword!"

_You don't have the right disposition for magic! Oh, this is terrible!_

Jak continued to hack away at the shadows as they came at him, then he realized, this was only a dream, he could just wake up. He tried.

And he failed. Weeks of 'suddenly back in prison' nightmares had made him _good_ at getting himself out of bad dreams, but this time, it just was not happening. While he was frozen in place, trying to wake up, about six of the little monsters jumped on him and pinned him down, all while the voice gained more and more emotion by the second, and was wailing on about how the world was lost to the "Heartless" because no one could go the distance.

"These things are _heavy!"_ Jak muttered to himself.

_What is it about this world that fails to produce pure-hearted people?_

The creatures were now fusing and melding together to form a pool of blackness at his feet, but this time, the glass did not remain, and he was pulled down into it, about to his knees, and it sucked him in slowly. Much slower than dark eco would, and this did not sear and burn like eco, this was cold, and more misty. Man, this was a weird dream.

The darkness grew to cover the entire platform, and on the other side, a huge thing emerged. It had yellow eyes, just like the little shadows had, but this one was much more human in appearance, with a beard and hair. There was also a gaping heart-shaped hole in its chest.

It reached out for Jak, who tried vainly to swing it away, but the hand was larger than he was, and it over powered him, pushing him completely into the darkness around his legs.

Jak sat upright so fast he nearly bumped his head onto the bunk above him. He stopped just in time—this would not have been the first time it happened, after all. His eyes found Daxter, also awake, laying in his little makeshift hammock. Jak had strung a green scrap of cloth between the wire frame supporting the mattress above them, and that was where he slept in the warmer months when body heat was not so desirable. He looked just as miserable and shaken as Jak was himself, like he had a strange dream of his own.

He faked his smile, "G'morning."

Jak donned a mask, "Mornin'."

Neither one asked how the other slept. Daxter settled in for a few more minutes of sleep while Jak got up to shower and put on fresh clothes.

He did not like living in the underground's HQ, not really, but it was cheaper than his own apartment, and no one would lease to a wanted criminal. Even if he had just saved the city. He found clean clothes in his locker, but not enough coins for the laundromat. He heaved a sigh, shrugged it off, and headed for the showers. They were about as private as they could be while still being communal. He did not like public baths—holdover from his days in prison—but the metal walls hastily (and poorly) bolted into the tile floor made a world of difference.

They could not stop sound, though.

"I had the weirdest dream last night!"

"N-no kidding?"

Jak inwardly groaned and squeezed his blue eyes shut. He did not want to hear it. They fell silent, completely unrelated to his self-contained outburst, and an awkward, drawn pause followed. In the furthest corner, someone dropped a bar of soap and it slid all the way down to the shared drain.

"Yeah." The first man said. "No kidding."

And just like that, the subject was dropped. This caught Jak's attention. He straightened up again and looked towards them, but he but he did not demand they share this weird dream. That would be rude. He finished washing up in silence, dried off and changed clothes. Trimmed his goatee, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair.

And combed his hair.

And combed his hair.

And he could not shake it.

He felt like he was being watched. A chill ran up his spine as he though he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness under the lockers. He saw a fluid blur of orange soon after, and it stopped where he thought he saw the eyes. Daxter straightened up and put his paws on his hips, "Hey, big guy!" he dropped on all fours again and moved closer. His tone changed, grew more gentle. Could he sense that Jak was still worried? "Torn's got a job for us, and he looks extra pissy today."

His sass and enthusiasm were both faked. He looked so tired. Everything _felt_ tired. The very air seemed heavy with everyone's shared worry. He shut everything away inside his locker and knelt down so Daxter could climb on to his shoulder. He could feel it everywhere. He was not even sure what _it_ was. It might be a mix of everything, but it permeated down to the eco. And it scared him.

Torn looked just as drawn as the rest of them. He was standing at the table, like he always was, staring down at the map of the city, his hands on either side of it, but he did not seem to be looking at it. There was something wild about the way he looked this morning, his blue eyes were glazed over, and his brown hair, which normally stayed back without an issue, was frizzy and unkempt, like he had tossed a lot in his sleep, and there was an uncharacteristic paleness in his tanned skin.

He was actually staring at his _phone_ with that glazed look. It was open and dead center on the map. Jak did not know how many numbers he had on that phone. Had he called someone?

"Torn."

Torn did not respond.

"Dax said you had a mission for us?"

He blinked and muttered, "The wasteland."

"_WHAT?!" _Daxter demanded, it was not faked at all. He hopped down, and got between Torn and his phone; furry mug to tattooed face, "You want us to risk our butts _out there?_ What for?"

Torn jumped back, blinked, and shook his head, "Not just _you_." He said, "Sig. You'll meet him at the Hip Hog—"

"It's the Naughty Ottsel!"

Torn shouted through a gate of teeth, "—_What! Ever!_ Just meet him there and go investigate a reading the research team picked up! We think its surviving metalheads. Get rid of 'em before they get a new leader."

"Right." Jak said. He took Daxter by the scruff of the neck and placed him on his shoulder. He snatched up his morph gun by the stairs and headed on up into the alley way. He did not bother with stealing a vehicle. One of the good things about Keira's JET board was that he could use it to travel the city without committing any crimes. He went a bit slower, but there were fewer mistakes to be made traveling so low and so much slower.

Of course, there were more voices to hear.

"And was there?"

"Yes! Yes there was!"

Jak glanced up at Daxter on his shoulder, his head followed the pair, ears swiveling to hear more talk of dreams. His eyes snapped to Jak, who faced forward immediately.

"What do you mean it was _her_ instead of _me?"_

"Look, Babe, it was just a dream, right?"_  
><em>

He hovered on, scanning the faces of everyone he passed. They all seemed so worried, and Jak wondered if everyone had all had the same dream. How could everyone have the same dream? How? He stopped. He had too. There was an early-morning jam in front of him and he had to find the best way to go either over or around without upsetting any of the KG. He could smell coffee and it reminded him that he had not eaten yet today. He could go for a coffee. He would have to hurry up with Sig today. He could grab lunch with Keira.

"And the eyes!"

"So unsettling!"

"And that giant... Giant _thing."_

Jak looked at Daxter again. The Ostelle starred past him, with a glazed, worried look.

"But who was it?"

"Not who. It was—"

Jak did not hear. He saw an opening and he went for it, ducking under one car and hopping over the next, and clearing it, and they were moving on again. They went down to the port, where the glowing orange ostelle stood there, cocky and proud. Inside, there was Tess, just Tess. She was wiping down the counter, but she did not appear too worried. She looked strangely chipper. Then again, she was _always_ chipper.

Daxter put on his fake glee again, but he was good at faking it. He jumped off of Jak's shoulder, and bounded off of the tables, sliding to the bar right in front of her. "Tess baby!"

The blonde put on big smile and scooped him up, "Good morning my little cuddlebun." Jak rolled his eyes. "I dreamed about you."

Daxter kept laying it on thick. "I dreamed about you too, precious."

She hugged him close, "Oooh, and what were we doing, teddy bear?"

If Daxter had had the same dream as Jak, and perhaps as the rest of Haven City, he did not breathe a word of it, not even to Tess, "You tell me first, choochy-face."

"I'll just wait outside." Jak muttered. Neither one noticed him. He went out—he would leave Daxter to his bar, it was fine. The little guy deserved some time to unwind; there was no reason to drag him out into the wasteland. He leaned against the wall by the door and shoved his hands in his pockets. He thought about eating again, and then he thought about calling Keira to set up that lunch date. He needed to get some practice on the racing zoomer. She had tuned it up a few days ago, and he still had not tried it out.

He checked the sky. Over the wall, he could see the cusp of a storm brewing, really dark clouds moving along in a slow circle. It did not look particularly dangerous. He waited ten, maybe twelve minutes, not long, then Sig came around, looking big, dark, and burly in his big, dark, and burly hover-car. He stared to lower it down and park but Jak just hopped into it.

His one green eye gave him a once over, "No Daxter?"

Jak looked towards the bar, "Nah."

Sig shrugged and the two zoomed off again, over the port, heading in the direction of the clouds. Sig did not bring them up. Jak tried to make a little conversation, "You really think its metal heads?"

"Hope so." He said, "Don't really want to imagine anything worse."

He was right. Jak rested his chin on his hand as they went over the port and turned around, still heading in the direction of the clouds, but not on a direct course. Jak had better view now. He saw a flash of lightning, "Storm's coming." He said.

"That so?" Sig looked for himself, "So it is. We better wrap this up quick. Looks like it's near where we're headed."

"Thunderstorms in the desert?"

"Sand _and_ thunderstorm in the desert. This is just the edge of the Wasteland. Storms get pretty nasty out there."

Jak tried once again to shake that bad feeling off. Waking up with paranoia was one thing, letting it get to him for the entire day was even worse. He had to stop it.

Sig parked the hover car by an unassuming little building, and the two went inside. Inside, it looked somewhat official, with a clerk's desk on one side and the entrance to a tunnel on the other. The desk had the KG insignia on it, but the woman behind the desk was probably not KG. She looked far too intellectual, with her hair pulled back into a tight twist.

"Heading outside today?"

"Yeah."

She looked at Sig, and pushed her glasses up her nose. They slid right back down again. She looked at Jak, then to a wanted poster of Jak, and looked back at her paperwork. Even she was nervous.

"You work with the KG?" Jak hissed as they headed towards the tunnel.

"Freelance." Sig replied flatly.

The tunnel lead to a single eco-powered trolley big enough to fit a small team of scientists and an escort of Krimson Guards, it was empty, though. Jak and Sig sat on opposite sides of the trolley, and did not look at each other, until the trolley came to a slow, screeching stop and Sig nodded for him to head out, too. Jak followed, until they reached the ladder heading up, and his phone rang.

He took it out and he expected it to be Daxter, _Why'd you leave me behind, big guy? I don't want to coddle with Tess all day here!_ But it was Keira. He smiled a bit, a little of the pressing, bad feeling went away, "Hey."

"Jak..." Keira sounded worried, "Jak, don't go out today. Come to the garage."

The bad feeling came right back. "W-why?"

"I have a bad feeling." She said, "I really do, Jak."

"I'm already out. I..." she'd worry more if he told her the truth, "I'm at the pumping station, I—"

"Oh no." she whimpered. Her voice got shrill and small, "Jak, please come back."

"I'll be there later. Maybe an hour, hour and a half."

"Jak, I'm _terrified_."

"Why?" He asked, but he knew why. He glanced up, everything seemed pretty calm up top, so he backed away to keep the conversation from echoing up, "What's wrong?"

Her reply was delayed. Her voice was smaller than ever before, he wanted to claim he had misheard her, because what she said chilled him to the bone.

"I had a strange dream last night."

"No."

"It's fading." She said, "Yellow eyes just... Just staring at me. Jak, please."

_Yellow eyes._

"Just sit tight, Keira, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Now."

"As soon as I can." He hung up, and that bad, pressing feeling intensified. His stomach churned at he felt like he was not even there. He felt nauseous. He gripped the phone tightly in one hand, and tried to focus on the secure and hefty weight of his gun on his back. He tucked the phone away and gripped the ladder. Sig's dark face appeared in the hole above him.

"Get you skinny ass up here!"

Jak hurried up the ladder into the little outpost. They were on the very edge of the wasteland, just like Sig had said. It looked like the storm had spread to the entirety of the wasteland, the clouds had spread, and there was lightning jump from cloud to cloud and down to the ground. Everyone there was in a state of reserved panic. Too panicked to even notice them. Everything was being pulled to the wasteland, the sand, the rocks, the trees bowed down to it, even the _light,_ it seemed.

"Looks like a tornado."

Even Jak knew that was a lie. It was a straight-up vortex. There was an eerie, sickly light in those clouds; it was a sight he wished he had never seen.

His phone rang again. It was Torn this time. "We're getting everyone into the palace."

"Why?"

Torn minced no words: "What did you dream last night?"

"You can't be serious."

There was a flash of light from the clouds, more powerful than any simple lightning bolt, and a black mist-like aura began to filter out. Whole sections of the ground came up. Trees were uprooted.

"No one's going out there!" a short little man shouted at Sig, "No one is going outside. We're getting into the trolley; we're heading back to the city. It's too dangerous out here!"

"There is an entire _cit_—"

"_It's pulling up the ground._" The scientist shouted back, "Whatever is out there, I'm sorry, the KG can do without it. It's lost."

There was another powerful flash, the building cracked, and the ground outside split open. Everything pitched, and Jak lost his balance, accidentally hanging up on Torn.

"If the world is ending, you can do what you want, but I'd like to find my family."

"Sig, he's right." Jak came to the man's defense, "This isn't Metalheads. It's something else. We need to go."

Sig looked towards the storm. There was a gaping chasm that was heading towards them, "Go." He shouted, "Everyone go." They all managed to cram back into the trolley; Jak took his gun from his back and stood closest to the door. He switched to the Vulcan barrel. Whatever they were facing, he would mow down as many as he could, and get as many people to the palace as he could. The tunnel was collapsing behind them.

And Jak was understandably terrified.

Where were Daxter and Tess? Had they made it to the palace? Torn must have, and Ashelin was already there. He looked back at the collapsing tunnel. It was still far behind, falling progressive further behind them. They would at least make it into the city wall. The trolley stopped, and no sooner had the doors opened than they had all rushed out on to the platform, and began hurrying up the ladder. Sirens were blaring, a signal for everyone to make their way to whatever shelter they could find. Jak kicked the door to the outside open and started shooting.

The creatures from his dream were everywhere, climbing up the buildings, climbing down the city wall. "Keep together!" he heard Sig shout, "And _run._"

There were too many to try to fit into one car, and no cars that were in any condition to work. They had all driven to the palace, and any that were left behind were wrecked and covered with the shadow creatures. The Vulcan ammo ripped through them, whatever they were, and Sig's peacemaker could take out large swaths of them at once. They were not even all that far from the palace.

But damn, they were everywhere!

Jak began to worry again.

He was running out of Vulcan ammunition. He switched to the scattergun, which was nowhere near as effective, and then to the blaster, which worked, but was slower. They were about half way by that time. Sig had no more shots left, and he could not fend off all of them.

Running worked, except for the fact that they kept tripping over the very things they were meant to be fleeing form.

By the time the palace doors were in sight, there was a perimeter around it that kept the creatures back and allowed them a safe and smooth transition to the inside. The palace was filled with refugees, it was standing room only. Jak pushed himself from room to room, looking for Daxter, Torn, anyone who could give him some answers. He found a single Krimson Guard, and demanded, "Where are Torn and Ashelin?"

"Waiting for you." He replied, "Top floor."

He jerked the head of his staff to the elevator. Jak took it without question. Was it just Torn and Aselin? He fumbled for his phone in the elevator and dialed Keira's number. She did not pick up. He snapped it shut, leaned his head back, and took a deep breath to calm himself. Daxter had to be up there. Keira had to be up there. They were up there. They had to be.

The doors opened and he came out to see Daxter, Ashelin and Torn standing around an electronic map of the city, planning a strategy. Onin sat a ways off, Pecker in his dish on her head. He saw no Samos. He saw no Keira. They looked relieved to see him. Daxter jumped off the table, swung up to his arm and climbed to his shoulder, "Jak, I thought I'd never see you again, buddy!"

To reassure himself that Daxter was there, he placed a hand on his side, curling his fingers around his back, "Where is Keira? Samos?"

Torn did not sugar coat it, "The things came in through the port and water slums. They pushed every one this way, but they cut off the racing stadium. We've got people trapped there. They're trapped with them."

"You have to get them out."

"We can't." Ashelin replied. "There are too many, and we're doing all we can to keep them out of the palace."

"Sig and I came though that and survived. You telling me you can't?"

"I'm telling you it's not worth it. You're the best we've got."

"And I'm going to rescue my friends." He spat back, he turned on his heel, then stopped and looked at Daxter. He picked him up and took him off his shoulder, "Daxter, you should stay here."

"Hell no!" he shouted right in Jak's ear. He clawed madly for Jak's metal spaulder, until he managed to get free of his hand and back on. He righted himself and dug his claws in to his skin through the fabric and glared at him, "Tess went out there and pulled the same crap! I'm not letting you leave me behind twice in the same day, buddy! It's not even noon yet!"

"You sure?"

"I've stuck with you through two too many apocalypses for you to ask a dumb question like that!" he dug his claws in more and hunkered down, "We're still the demolition duo!"

Jak gave him a little nod and stepped into elevator again, "I'm getting more ammo."

He went down into the basement, where other weapons and equipment were stored. He stocked up on everything while Daxter waited impatiently on his shoulder. When everything was loaded and the gun was back on its Vulcan setting, he headed out to the elevator again, and he elbowed his way outside of the confused and terrified mob of civilians.

It was freezing cold and dark outside. The stars were gone. The air was thin. Papers and flags and lighter objects were being pulled along and picked up by the vortex. He could feel the ground shaking. He asked, "Why the hell did Tess go out?"

"Because people were trapped in the stadium, and she's five foot four and can take care of herself!" Daxter replied almost bitterly. "She's got her guns, she's got her fancy new blade—"

Tess must have designed some kind of sword. A bit odd for her, but she could branch out if she wanted too. They hit the thick of it now, so Jak tuned him out, and concentrated on navigating the JET board thought the sea of yellow-eyed shadows towards the stadium. He could not just mow through them, he had to save his ammunition for the trip back, but that was not a particularly good strategy for getting those people to the palace. He had no idea how many there were. He could not escort too many people, it just was not practical.

Daxter grabbed ahold of his ear and yanked, "WILL YOU OPEN YOUR EYES AND TAKE A LOOK AROUND?!" Daxter shrieked, "Look, Jak, will you just—friggen—_look!"_

The wall was crumbling close to the vortex behind them. Larger debris were moving now, he leaned forward and crouched down to keep from being sucked away. Houses were being pulled away and sucked in. It was growing so quickly now, flickering and pulsing and glowing with all the light it had stolen away. There was a deafening, twining, metallic snap from above, and then a crumbling noise. One of the support towers for the palace—there was another one—two of the support towers from the palace had given way.

He heard the palace buckling and groaning, but it did not look like it was going to fall. It would hold itself up. It had to, just for a little bit. They were almost there. It was going to fall! He looked back. Everyone inside was going to be killed. "Keep an eye on it, Dax."

"They'll never be able to evacuate in time!"

"Just make sure it doesn't fall on us." He said.

He went to the right. It would be a longer way to the stadium, but that was fine. Whatever got him there alive. There was a third twining snap from across the city, and the very sound was almost sucked in by the black hole. It did not matter. They could see the garage now. Between it and them, there was a field of black and yellow, spreading across the plaza. Jak saw a few of them go flying, and looked to the source. He saw Tess, hacking her way through them elegantly, gracefully, like she had been born to do it. There was, exactly like Daxter had said, a sword in her hand, but it was strangely shaped. Really, it was more of an axe than a sword, from what Jak could see—and that was very little.

Jak kicked the JET board up, started skimming over the shadow creatures. He reached out his hand, his other hand gripping the JET board around the edge fingers burning in the heat from the engine, anchoring himself to it so he could grab Tess and pull her out of the mob—Get her to the stadium, get her to _Keira_ just a little bit faster. Seconds counted.

And then that void drew one final, all-consuming breath.

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><p>Okay, I'm sorry the prologue was such a <em>text-anvil<em>! But I actually feel like that went too fast…? Dunno. Anyway, drop a review if you're interested in reading more, just know that I'll be moving it to the crossover section after about three chapters, so follow it, book mark it, do what you gotta do in order to keep track of it.


	2. Chapter 1

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

This one sort of bleeds into FFVII and BBS.

I'd move it at this point but I still want people to actually _see it._

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><p>Chapter One:<p>

Aerith sat under a colorful, thick quit on a big, comfy chair by a nice, roaring fire with a warm, soothing mug of chamomile tea. It was late, but perfect. The moon was high and glowing; there was a little cloud-cover, and that nice hint of lullaby-like rain to lull her to sleep. On the floor above her, the others were all settling down, too. It was curfew. Normally, she was sure they would complain, but it was Leon's rule, so fussing would not do much. Not like curfew mattered to the Heartless, though, it was not meant to keep people from going out at night, just from going out _alone._

She took a sip of tea. The others preferred spirits to send them to sleep, when they needed it, but for her, the tea was just fine, the tea and a nice old book of spells and incantations which she would probably never be skilled enough to use, but it was nice for her to dream, and it was nice that she actually had reading material available, the others could only lay there sleepless.

She cracked the book open, and wished her quilt had sleeves. She took another sip of—

"NYEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!"

Aerith, for a very brief moment, almost spit her tea out over the old and priceless tome. _No!_ She told herself, _No you musn't do that! _She managed to swallow it in one mass—more like a stone than tea—while a storm of expletives raged on above her and the screams persistently wailed outside. She set her cup down and closed her book.

"HOLY FUCKING BAHAMUT WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT?" Yuffie shrieked.

"We should check it out."

"NO!" Yuffie exclaimed, "No, no, no! I'm staying right here!"

Aerith shook like a leaf while she hop-snuck on her toes to the window, quilt wrapped tightly around her still. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered out from between the curtains. She saw nothing out of the ordinary; she just heard the pounding ruckus and the ear-splitting shrieking. Lights were being lit in bedroom windows and on front porches, and doors were already opening.

She saw something flickering in the bailey, a dim, purple light. Aerith looked closer. It flashed brightly, and lightning shot out, burning craggy lines in the brick and sending little stones flying. She flung herself away from the window, shrieking briefly. Cloud and Leon were coming from down the stairs, boots half-on and jackets barely on at all, and Cid was climbing out of the basement. He was at least dressed. Aerith stepped into her boots and took a cardigan from where she had casually thrown it the day before on a chair. They straightened themselves out in chaos—buttons could always sense haste—and scrambled for their weapons as the screaming continued.

"Come _on,_ Yuffie!"

Yuffie ran down the stairs in her over-sized nightshirt. She had put on shorts under it, but had completely forgone shoes or socks—and considering the lacing she had to do, Aerith did not blame her. "Okay, okay, I'm coming!"

"It's in the Bailey, whatever it is." Aerith explained, reaching for the door and throwing it open.

"Flashlight!" Yuffie shouted, "Flashlight!"

"Got it." Cid replied shining it in her face, "Go."

The roaring continued, and as they left the house, they could hear loud crashing and banging, like there was a full-fledged _brawl_ going down in the bailey. The faint drizzle had begun to pick up, but it was nothing too hindering. They hurried up the stairs to the wall, and down the stairs into the bailey which was out of the faint rain, but echoing with the sounds of the fight, in the faint light of the stars, and the beam of Cid's flashlight, they got as clear a view of what was going on as possible.

A clear understanding was a completely different thing.

It—regretfully, that was all Aerith could call it for the time being—could have been a Heartless, but considering it was mercilessly pounding every Heartless that came near it, that seemed unlikely. It was in the throes of an unstoppable rage, whatever it was, and it did not look remotely close to tiring out or slowing down. It barely even stood still long enough for them to get a good look at it. Not to mention it was spewing lightning around like a thundaga gone wrong and they were getting hit with second-hand destruction and Heartless while they were just trying to avoid the bolts of electricity.

One of these bolts of electricity leaped into the gunblade and into Leon's arm, igniting the powder and making it discharge dangerously close to Cloud's head. He did not flinch. The zap sent a painful jolt up his arm and forced Leon to drop the weapon. He gripped his wrist and his face contorted in pain, that was all Aerith saw before Cid's light jumped again just in time for her to see a Heartless about to swipe its claws across her face. She slapped it away, and realized with a twinge of guilt and shock that she sent it on a collision course with Yuffie, who hardly saw it coming.

In the spastic spotlight of Cid's electric torch, Aerith saw a pair of very human-like boots jump up, then it threw itself full-force against the bailey floor, knocking them all backwards into the wall and stairs. She gasped and blinked. At least the flashlight had fallen still. Her ears rang with the impact and she was winded. The onslaught had just stopped after that. Everything was dark and still and impossibly quiet.

"Is everyone—" Oh! Her chest! "Okay?"

"What _was_ that thing?" Leon hissed, "Are there any more of them?"

The light moved, and Cid replied, "That right there is what it is."

Aerith sat up and her eyes found the light shining to the end of the bailey. Cid stood a few yards ahead of her, scratching his blond head. Yuffie was on her knees, probably glad she had put on a pair of shorts, but wishing she had shoes. Leon staggered to his feet, still trying to breath and feeling around for his gun blade, Cloud was leaning on the Buster Sword, and he said flatly, "It's a kid."

"So it is." Cid replied.

The "kid" in question had collapsed to his knees, his arms wrapped around his head, nails clawing into his skull and fingers bunching his hair. Aerith got to her feet and hurried towards him. He was out cold, frozen catatonic; his outburst must have been a delayed reaction to being thrown through the darkness and into the Hollow Bastion. The first things she noticed were his ears, from tip to tip, they spanned even further than the breadth of his shoulders. She reached up to touch one tip, there was a slight nick about two, perhaps two and a half inches down, and a series of symbols, like an identification number—perhaps a name?—starting right next to it. The flesh itself felt somewhat like cartilage, with tiny, slightly-harder ribs suspended inside it, and a longer bone stretching though the upper edge, rather like a wing. When the light from Cid's flashlight caught it, she could see these bones faintly though the red.

Carefully, she unwound his arms from his head, she had to apply a great deal of force, everything was tensed up—his muscles had become stone. She freed him, eventually. But his hands were still stuck in that claw-like grip, and his mouth was still set in a grimace.

The others moved in, the light shown brighter, casting a clearer mold to his features. Aerith lowered him down, cradling his shoulders in her arms, brushed the blond hair from his forehead. The stone-like coma vanished and he relaxed completely, almost melting into the ground. His head slumped back, looking at the bailey ceiling. When she moved her free hand in front of his eyes, he showed no sign of seeing it, though his eyes were fully open. They were blue. The same blue as Sora's eyes. An unnatural blue.

"I don't think he's more than seventeen." She said. She adjusted her hold on him—his head just would not support itself. She had to mind it for him, like a newborn. When he was out cold, at least, his face looked full and young, but there were two lines of blood that had trickled down from his hair, and formed a little 'v' between his eyebrows, and dirt and blood had clustered around the creases in his face, so they showed clear and clean in the beam of Cid's flashlight. But other than that, Aerith saw no trace of them, only their ghosts, like he had spent the most recent years of his life glaring and trying very hard to look older. She searched his hair and found two long gashes just above his eyes, not cracks in the skull, though, there were two small horns protruding from them.

When he breathed, it was rasping and bubbling, and little bit of blood ran from the tiny gap between his lips. Aerith forced his mouth open and saw cuts on his gums as well, the same thing had happened to his cuticles. His fingers were longer than the average person's, too, and his hands were wider.

"What are we dealing with here?"

"Maybe Merlin will know." She replied. She waved her hand over him, and the gashes knitted themselves, leaving no scars, no trace of anything, but there were old scars, cuts that had healed up ages ago into neat little white lines. There was something they had missed. Something the poor lighting had not allowed them to see. This was not the first time something like that had happened to him.

Cloud and Leon hoisted him from her lap and half-dragged him at the head of the party back to their shared house. His arms are long; his fingertips down to his knees. It was bizarre to see, he was so much shorter than Cloud and Leon, but his arms were so long. It was strange and fascinating. He was a whole other species. Merlin would be so intrigued.

She kicked something in the darkness. It bounced and abruptly discharged one round, which went sailing out the large windows in the bailey and did not hurt a soul, it just made everyone jump and bring a fresh storm of panic to the surface. She stooped over and tried to lift it up, but it was too heavy for her. Cid handed her the flashlight and hoisted it up himself, and they resumed walking. The boy's head moved once, but that was it. He was otherwise completely indisposed.

Climbing the stairs was awkward with his toes dragging, and the rain had started to come down a little harder when they left the bailey, it filled the little cracks in the walkway and made the stones slippery, and pulled the moon behind clouds, so they could hardly see, except for Cid's flashlight.

"Are we taking him to Merlin's now or are we waiting until morning?" Cloud asked.

"Now." Leon replied, shifting the boy's weight on his shoulders, "Whatever he did before—I don't want him doing it again until we have some answers."

They went past their door to Merlin's, except for Cid, who took the gun away to study it, and Yuffie who wanted to get some sleep. Leon kicked Merlin's door four times and waited for the old wizard to answer. When he did, his glasses were askew, with a thumbprint on the left lens, and his beard was tangled.

"What was that ruckus, Leon, what's going on?"

Leon nodded to the kid. Merlin adjusted his spectacles and looked him over slowly, from dragging toe to long, pointed ear, "I say!"

"We were hoping you had some answers?"

"Bring him in, bring him in!"

They dragged him inside sideways, while out of his bag of holding, Merlin found a spare cot to lay him on. Somewhat clumsily, they set him down on it, and stood back so Merlin could get a good look at him, "He's not from around here."

"Yes." Leon replied dryly.

"He's got something here." Aerith motioned Merlin over to his ear, where the markings were. Merlin stared at them, then took off his glasses and squinted, then stared through his glasses again.

"What does it say?"

"No idea." Merlin shrugged, Aerith heard the too door slam. They had left to tell the block to calm down, nothing was wrong, reassuring things like that. Merlin gave her a smile and said, "You run along now, dear, get some rest. You'll have a busy day tomorrow, showing him around."

"Why me?"

He took her by the elbow and forced her out, "You have the most trustworthy face, I'm afraid."

He was right. She was small and unassuming, a gentle creature, the kind of person strangers always asked for directions and children loved to play with. She should probably even stay, in case he woke up, but, at least he did not have his gun to cause too much trouble. She looked at him—he did not look to be sleeping, he still looked to be in a faint. He was passed out completely, and that was the normal reaction to traveling through the darkness—but someone who was new at it would not come out fighting so fiercely. Perhaps he had some knowledge of the heartless?

He did not seem like the kind of person that would hurt Merlin.

As she walked back to her house, the lights went off on the porches and upstairs, leaving only the street lamps lit. She moved quickly, to avoid the attention of the Heartless, but after the boy's display, they were probably cowering in fear. For once, Aerith felt sorry for them. She glanced back at Merlin's house, and tried to assure herself that the old man could handle whatever the boy threw at him.

As Aerith opened the door, she saw Yuffie diving for cover and Cid stepping to the side as Leon fumbled with the stranger's gun. Cloud did not move. Aerith looked at the gun, and she may have been mistaken, but she could have sworn it had changed within the past ten minutes.

"Oh." Leon said, he blinked, and adjusted his grip, pulling back on something that slid in a grove—and the entire gun changed. "Hello."

They moved in closer, Leon managed to get it to change again, and again, so that the simple side cannon—more of a blunderbuss—was back. He cycled through the forms of the gun once more, examining each one in turn, and removing the cartridges of bullets as they popped up. Cid took it away from him, and set it down at the table like a kid with a new toy, which was exactly what it was. "Go get my tools."

Leon pulled up a chair and Aerith knew any hope of light reading would be lost to boys and their toys. Yuffie came back from the basement with the tools and sat down as well, chin resting on her hands. She took one cartridge from Leon, a round one, about little larger than a baseball, with a purple ring around it, and a small gauge of screwdriver, and began to work on the little screws she could see.

"Screws recede." She said.

"Thanks." Leon replied, who looked to be having trouble with a blue-and-black cartridge of his own. He took out about two screws when the bottom blasted away from the rest, striking clean through the table and the floor, and the top popped off and bounced off the ceiling. Leon jumped back at once with a loud, "Ah."

When a few shell cases tumbled out, and one split open, and what looked like a little ball of blue lightning danced across the table. Cid lifted up the gun before the ball lightning could touch it. It eventually settled in the center of the table, and gave off a little humming noise.

"Wow!" Yuffie sat up.

"It looks like mako."

"It _has_ to be mako." Yuffie replied.

"That ain't mako." Cid said. He nudged with his finger, and it jumped to his hand, and he drew it back abruptly, like it had shocked him, "We'd better get it in a jar or something."

Aerith got a clean glass jar from the kitchen, and used a metal spatula to sweep it all up, she set it down and screwed the lid on securely, the others went back to their tinkering. Cid dismantled the gun piece by piece with enthusiasm.

"It's mighty clever. Uses a morph gummi."

"Been a while sense we've seen one of those." Yuffie replied. She set down the ammo clip and leaned forward while Cid removed one piece after the next and revealed the little gummi center. The entire exterior was either metal or polycarbon, depending on the piece. It was an exoskeleton around a soft, moldable center, that allowed the gun to change shape so seamlessly.

"But Cid, we've never been able to get gummi to work like this with another material. It rejects almost everything."

Engines and guns could be incased _in_ gummi, but never the other way around, not so easily, at least. Aerith circled the table to get a better look.

"They aren't attached." Cid replied, "Metal's all hinged and fitted around it."

"I see."

Leon started laying out all of the pieces in an orderly fashion, sorting out all of the freed screws according to sizes, and he broke another one of the black and blue bullets open, dropping a second little ball of blue lightning into the jar. The two danced around each other for just a second, and then they melded together, and stayed together, even when Leon shook the jar. He winced and peeled off his glove, looking at his injured hand.

A little branching Lichtenburg figure was on his palm, spreading down his wrist about two inches. It would have looked fine and completely normal despite the fact that it was a deep, muddy, blue-purple. He flexed his hand twice and seemed to deem it fine, then he reached with that hand to the purple and black cartridge Yuffie held and there was that purple light again, and an unsettling zapping sound. Leon dropped the cartridge and it popped open, and another mako-like substance bounced out, but this one seemed to behave a little bit more like a gel or a liquid.

"I don't think we should touch that."

"I'll get another jar." Aerith replied.

"Thank you."

"Oh!" Yuffie laughed in fear, "Oh, please hurry Aerith we'll be with out a table if this keeps up.!"

Aerith managed to catch it in the jar immediately after it scorched another hole in the table and went into the floor. It was like an acid. She doubted, for a moment, that the glass would be able to hold it. It filled the jar like a fluid, not persistent ball-lightning. She screwed the lid on tight and held two fingers against the side. The glass had gone quite cold. She tilted the jar from left to right. It was halfway between unrefined oil and a thin gel, so far as viscosity was concerned, but when it moved, it left no residue on the glass. She looked at the blue in her left hand, and the dark stuff in her right, and held the two jars close.

They fought like Betta fish, the blue bouncing around violently and the dark stuff pulsing wildly, the glass heated up and threatened to crack with the energy. Fearing she was about to end the world in a stupid and untimely manner, she set the two jars down, well away from any stray elbows and well away from each other on the mantle.

"Aerith get another jar!" Yuffie said, "Oh, get two."

Aerith did as she was told.

"We'll need to tell Merlin about this."

"You _could_ just wait to talk to him. Are you sure you should be dismantling his only weapon?" Cloud asked.

"We'll have it back together by noon tomorrow." Cid replied.

"Besides, we have an entire closet of weapons."

Aerith cleared away two more versions of the stuff, red and yellow. They were both a bit like the blue—ball lightning, but the red was a bit more smoky and the yellow a bit more like fire, and both were very warm to the touch. They looked kind of interesting on the mantle; they made a good conversation ensemble—probably would have made wonderful light sources. She took the blue and moved it into the darkness of her room. It was about as strong as three candles, and produced none of the smoke. She went back to the living room again.

The boy must have some knowledge of them, anyone who owned and used a gun was obligated to know it inside and out, a lack of knowledge was wholly irresponsible and posed a danger to yourself and anyone you were trying to help.

She adjusted the jars to the arrangement of colors was balanced and pleasing, blue then red then yellow then purple, which would hopefully keep the eye at the center. A nice, warm-toned painting would be perfect for framing them, but, she had bigger things on her mind, like the boy. She folded up the quilt and slung it over the back of the chair. Leon and Cid were debating some function of the gun, but she knew she need to get some shut eye, because there was no guarantee that that boy would wake with the morning.

So, if he woke at two in the morning, or at six, or even at noon, she would probably need to be well-rested, "I'm going to go on and get to bed."

"I promise we'll keep it down." Cid replied.

"Night."

With a little wave to them all, Aerith closed the door behind her. She stripped off her cardigan and kicked off her shoes. She settled in under the covers, but she could still hear the others murmuring. She did not sleep for a while, perhaps she laid there for half an hour or more, but it was so early in the night still, she did not worry too much about not drifting off right away.

She did not even notice she had fallen to sleep at first—it was just another long walk in the public garden with Zack to her—where the rows of flowers stretched on forever and the sun never moved in the sky and the trees towered above the wall in a distance she would never reach. They laughed. She blushed. His fingers grazed her knuckles and he fumbled for words. They stopped, and just gazed into each other's eyes, diving into endless depths and—

"NEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—!"

Rise and shine.

* * *

><p>Ok, that one was short. Oh well. It's not getting much of a response, anyway.<p>

Which is very unfortunate. This is damn comprehensive for a cross over.

Still hella fun to write, tho.


	3. Chapter 2

Taking Orders from Nobody.

(Disclaimed.)

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><p>Chapter two:<p>

Jak's entire body hurt. The bed he was on felt like he was back in prison, and he reminded himself that that was not possible. He told himself he was in the underground's hideout, or maybe sleeping in a booth in the Naughty Ostelle. Probably with a hangover.

_Nope_. His memory blithely reminded him. Jak's eyes snapped open and he fumbled off of the cot. He would have preferred _prison _to the memories that were rushing back to him. He found himself screaming in a mix of complete fury and utter despair.

Mid scream, something that felt exactly like a book pelted him on the back of the head. Jak fell forward, tripping over his own feet and catching himself on the stone stairs in the middle of the room, then banging his forehead on the table on the round platform. He turned around, somehow calmed by head trauma, and sat down on the stone, and hand to his forehead. He heard the fluttering of pages, and an old man's voice.

"Now see here, young man, calm down!"

Jak could not focus on anything; he was glancing around wildly and could not even keep still long enough to take in any details about the room or the old man. He felt the blind panic from last night nudging against the surface again, and he tried to keep it down. He was swimming in his own thoughts, reaching blindly for the anchor that usually weighed him down—and then he began _looking_ for that anchor. He got to his feet, unsteadily. He felt the cold stone through his socks. They were uneven, like the old house had simply been built on top of a cobblestone road. "Daxter!"

"What?"

He kept repeating it in his head, silencing his memories, _Find Daxter,_ and immediately, the feeling of swimming died down. He looked to the old man, and thought, for one terrible moment, that he was Kor. It was a simple mistake. Long blue robe, long beard, same paternal vibe. But it could all be a mask that he tore off any second. Jak took a step back, stumbled over his boots, sat down on the uncomfortable cot. His heart began to pound. Suppose it did come off? Suppose it already had. What if _he_ had done something to Daxter? "W-where is he?"

"Who?"

"D-daxter." Jak tried his best to remain calm. He did not like the old man. When he looked at him out of the corner of his eye, Kor was all he saw. This was not good. This was bad. This was very bad. He needed Daxter. He needed his gun. What had happened to them? What had happened to Keira? Tess had been right in front of him just a few hours ago. Where had she gone? Where was Daxter? Where was Daxter? "He's about two feet tall, skinny rodent, bright orange. Huge ego. He's impossible to miss."

"I'm sorry, he's not around here."

It was coming back again—this time with a feeling of nausea. Jak took a calming breath and said, mostly to himself, "Okay, Okay, I'm sure he's fine. I'm going to go look for him."

He looked down at his boots on the floor and held his forehead between his thumb and forefinger—because this was what he usually did when he was trying to think. One thing at a time. Boots on first. He needed to find Daxter—but to do that, he needed a way to defend himself and a way to attract his attention. The gun. Where was his gun? He had it—he knew he had it. How could he have lost it, when he never let it go? He turned around and looked around the small house, and demanded, "My gun?"

"Next door."

He turned around again, and threw the door open, nearly running right into a brown-haired, green eyed woman. She seemed to recognize him, but mostly, she seemed afraid. She stepped back and held up her hands, and said very weakly, "Cloud!"

Why _exactly_ she wanted to draw his attention to the clouds escaped him. He walked past her, past two other people that he barely paid attention too, and threw open the first door he saw. His eyes fell on his gun, on a table, with a third man sitting behind the dismantled wreak—to be fair, Jak only called it a wreak because the parts were not laid out the way _he_ would lay them out, he was in that kind of mood—who looked a little ashamed of himself, but at the same time, a little miffed.

"You dismantled my _gun_?" he barked.

The man was yellow-haired, and as far as Jak was concerned in his late thirties. He wore a plain, white knitted shirt that stretched over his brawny shoulders. He had a leather dog-tag around his neck, and a pair of goggles over his eyes, so Jak could not see them clearly. He set his tools and the gun down and lifted his goggles. His eyes were blue. In a stern voice, he asked, "Do you know how to put it back together?"

"Of course I do!" Jak replied indignantly, "It's _my gun_." he stormed forward began to reassemble the front half of the exterior in record time, fitted it over the gummi core and assembled the second half building off the first. He reached for the Vulcan ammunition, and his heart stopped when he saw that it had been tampered with. What the hell? "Don't you _know_ how dangerous eco can be?" he demanded.

"Well, look what it did to the table!" he replied motioning to a burned hole in the wood that had obviously been made by dark eco. There was a second hole, one that bad been blasted in—most likely from a mishap with blue eco.

"Where did it go? What the hell did you do with it?"

"In a jar, over there." He pointed to the mantle place.

Jak turned around and received the shock of his life, "You've got them way too close together you're lucky it hasn't exploded yet!" He snatched up the jar of dark eco, and, having no other way to dispose of it, dumped it out into his open hand and absorbed it. His vision went blank for a second—it always did—and when the world came back into focus, the man at the table, the green-eyed woman from before, and those two bystanders he had passed were all staring at him in horror.

The blond haired man asked slowly, "Didn't you _just_ say that stuff was dangerous?"

There was a painful silence. Jak stood there, frozen, like a caught animal, the jar still held over his open hand, growing warmer against his palm. It was a good moment, really. The panic subsided. No one was actively trying to hurt him and it just took a second of not running around in terror to realize that.

"Well I'm—" he considered the possible words. Special? Sounded positive. A lab rat? He did not want to tell them that yet, "... different."

Among the two by standers, there was a brown haired man with a scar that slanted across the bridge of his nose, between his dark blue eyes. His eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth on that word—"different"— but the green-eyed woman gave him arm a slight nudge and she shook her head, so faintly Jak would not have noticed if he had not been looking. He pretended not to notice. Had he gone Dark last night? He looked at his hand. There were no cuts in his cuticles, so no rapid nail growth; he did not taste blood, so no cuts in his mouth from the fangs, either. He checked his horns, hidden under his hair, no broken skin there, either.

But it would have made sense if he did. He was under a lot of stress, and he felt mostly purged of the dark eco—what he had just taken in was just a little blip on the radar compared to what he had in him when those creatures had come. Maybe he had, maybe he had not. He was not about to ask. If he had successfully avoided showing them that side of himself, he was not about to ask and raise suspicion.

"My name is Aerith Gainsborogh." The green-eyed woman told him. She smiled pleasantly and Jak decided that she was impossible not to trust.

"Jak." He answered.

"No last name?"

"No." he replied, "No last name."

The brown haired man opened his mouth to say something again. Jak looked at him sharply, perhaps a bit too sharp because he re-considered his words mid-breath, and said instead of..._whatever_ it was he was going to observe, he said, "Leon."

"No last name?"

"Short for Leonheart." He said, "It _is_ my last name."

A bright, bubbling voice said on his other side, "His first name's Squall." Jak jumped and turned to face her. The girl in question grinned broadly. She was small, and fairly young, with dark eyes and short, black hair. He could have _sworn_ she had not been on his left side before, so she moved very quickly and very easily. He had never seen or heard her move, "Mine's Yuffie Kisaragi."

She shook hands with him; she had a strong grip for such skinny arms. She was shorter than him, but not by much. He was used to that. When these three had given their names, the man at the table stood up and introduced himself as Cid Highwind. He tried to make conversation about his morph gun, how the mechanics worked, how eco was used in the ammunition—and what eco even was in the first place—and Jak did not know whether this was because he believed Jak was an incompetent gun-owner, or because he had no idea how to read people, because his opinion, he was making it fairly obvious that he wanted to go.

He was trying very, very hard to make his way back to the front door, but they kept him pinned in by the fire place, asking a million questions all at once, where he came from, how the Heartless got there, and Jak did not say anything. The word Heartless certainly sounded familiar, but he was not sure where, exactly. Aerith was the only one who seemed to understand that he wanted out of there as fast as possible. She took him by the arm and said, "Jak, why don't I show you around the town? You look like you need some air."

"_Thank you." _He replied. Together, they made their way to the door. When she opened it for him, there was a second blond standing there. He was young, in his twenties—around the same age as Leon and Aerith, but his _hair_ seemed to think it was still seventeen. It was messy, like he had just woken up, sticking out at all angles. He looked at Aerith first, then to Jak, and Jak could actually _see_ the exact point the distrust showed up in his blue eyes. While Cloud was staring him down, Jak focused on other things, like the metal plate covering his shoulder, and the extra sleeve, and the alarmingly huge sword on his back.

Aerith said, in a much different tone this time, "Cloud!"

Was that just something they _did_ here? Say 'Cloud' when doors opened? The other blond jumped, "Huh?"

It took a second for Jak to realize his _name_ was Cloud.

"This is Jak."

The second blond extended his hand, and replied, "Cloud Strife."

Jak seriously doubted that was his real name, but he shook hands all the same. At least it made sense why Aerith had timidly said, "Cloud." earlier. She was calling for help.

Maybe he _had_ transformed...?

He still was not about it ask.

"I'm going to show him around town."

"Should I come with you?" he asked.

"No, Cloud, we'll be fine." She replied.

He frowned slightly. Jak knew that frown. Cloud was going to follow them at a distance. That was fine—if the roles were reversed, Jak would certainly follow him. Aerith walked along with him for a while, and then let him go and got right to business, "This way. This is where we found you."

They hurried up a flight of stone stairs to a tall, stone wall. They went to the right, heading away from a construction site that was building up the wall to their left, adding on about ten feet of stone. _Something_ had be be kept out, "What's the wall for?"

"You'll see, Jak." She replied.

Jak glanced back. Cloud was following them, out of earshot, sword still on his back. At least it was not out. When he looked back at Aerith, he saw that she had noticed him too, but she did not say a word about it. She hurried him on, explaining, "This is the Bailey. That way leads to the castle, but it's locked up now, we can't get there. It was right here. This is where you turned up."

Jak looked around, turning in a complete circle to see every corner of the cool, stone room. The only light came in from two observing windows, and the doorway. It was badly damaged, exactly like he had gone on an eco-fueled rampage. Jak headed towards the doorway, and the steps beyond, first he stood on the landing of a second set of stairs and shouted, "Daxter!"

His voice echoed back, and he realized he was too far down, too shut in for his voice to carry very far. He took out the morph gun, shifted to the Vulcan mod, and fired it into the air, a chain of about fifty rounds, then he paused briefly, and fired a few more over the blocked passage way, so no one would get hurt. He stopped a second time, and let the gun chew through the rest of the clip after two seconds. He knew _that_ would get Daxter's attention, and that was worth the waste in ammo. He had to conserve what he had left—this place was not going to have any, Jak knew that was certain. He went down the stars, but he did not see any sign of Daxter. There was no dirt or mud to take footprints. No blood splatters or clumps of orange fur, either, so that was a good sign. He searched the gate to the blocked passage thoroughly—Daxter could have scaled it, easy. Then he checked the broken controls. There were plenty of Ostelle-sized hiding places, but no Ostelles.

He found the JET board. It had flown off on its own and slammed into the wall, leaving a small crack, before it had fallen and shut off directly below it. The finish was badly scratched, but it had always been badly scratched. It still worked. He would be able to cover more ground much faster. He stashed it on his back, and headed back to Aerith, "If Daxter was here, he would have followed us last night."

"Are you sure?" Aerith asked. She looked at the destruction he had caused last night, then to Cloud, who had his sword drawn, but otherwise seemed unruffled. He did not look too keen on putting it away anytime soon, however.

"Yeah." Jak answered, he tried _not_ to acknowledge either of those details. "He's a little guy, but he sticks with me. He's either beyond the gate, exploring the castle, or he's on the other side of the wall."

Before he could cross the bailey, Aerith gently grabbed his arm and stopped him, "No, Jak, that's not possible."

"Yes it is."

"No. It's not."

"Sure it is!" he replied, "It's just as likely as anything—let me look."

He shook her hand off and headed to the window. He thought it would be about twenty or fifteen feet down. He was wrong. It was a very tall, sheer drop, heading to a gaping chasm, filled with those black creatures that had attacked Haven City. Even from this high up, Jak could see the yellow glow of their eyes.

The fear surged back again.

"There's nothing but Heartless down there." Aerith told him. Her voice had all the signs of someone who was trying to keep their cool and calm everyone down despite the fact that she herself was terrified. Jak was guessing it _was not _the monsters—Heartless, he was able to put two and two together—below. She placed her hand on his arm, "If he was—not anymore."

"No!" Jak shook her off a bit more roughly than he meant to and jumped onto the ledge, only to be grabbed by both pairs of hands and jerked down again, landing hard on the stone floor of the bailey.

"You can't go down there—you'll be killed." Aerith informed him. She hardly raised her voice. She pulled him up again and steered him away from the windows, "Maybe he arrived somewhere else. We'll go to the town square and look there." Jak already knew. He could feel it. Daxter was not there. Aerith tried vainly to reassure him, "This isn't the first time this has happened. A boy named Sora, and his friends, they were separated when the darkness took their world, too. But they found each other again—and their world even came back! So you see—You see, it will all be okay."

He did not say anything. She shut up and lead him back down the stairs and though the streets to the town square. While he was walking through, he realized that this town was more of a slum than anything. Only this small part of it seemed to be lived in, but the wall seemed to go on pretty far, and it looked like only the flat, Heartless covered landscape was beyond that. The square was not really a square at all—it was not centrally located, wide open, or convenient to get to. As far as Jak could tell, it was just closest place in the slum that happened to resemble a town square. It was bordered with little vendor shops selling armor and weapons—Jak saw no guns in display, only staffs and shields—and whatnot for the usual townsperson living in a slum besieged by monsters from another world.

Just like home.

Everyone was even looking at him funny.

_Just_ like home.

He glanced around and he did not see Daxter.

He saw about three of the shops were run by small ducks.

And after the initial confusion and shock wore off, Jak was okay with that.

He asked around, and after asking two or three people about Daxter and not hurting anyone, the rest seemed to warm up to him, and they were all glad to help. The fact that Aerith did not seem to be afraid of him certainly did not hurt his image. None of them had seen or heard of Daxter, however. They all wished him luck, gave their condolences, and told him that this was not the first time the Heartless had just swallowed someone up.

The ducks, shockingly, where the most helpful. Each one told him that the chances of anyone going through the darkness and getting spit back out again, like Jak was, were extremely good. No only what there the Hollow Bastion, but there were several other worlds out there Daxter could have found himself in, and some were much, much safer than Hollow Bastion was itself. Anyone could go from one to the other if they had a pure, strong heart, the right equipment, or in one or two cases, sheer, beast-like will power.

If there was one thing Daxter had, it was heart.

With that knowledge in hand, and no Daxter, he went back to Leon's with Aerith. He saw a notice board on their way back, and noticed that only one flier looked recent. The others were all at least ten years old, and they looked it. They had been rained on, wind-beaten, and weathered. Jak walked away from Aerith and tore off the piece of paper reminding everyone that curfew was at some time—Jak really could not read it, but screw it, what ever it was. He tossed it aside. He looked at the ten-year-old pages.

Mixed in with a few odds and ends—what Jak assumed was an ad for an ice-cream shop, this and that—were missing persons fliers.

"Jak, don't do that!"

Jak tore the fliers off of the wall, one by one, looking at each one in turn, getting more put on edge each time. None of them looked particularly older or newer than the others, so they seemed to be only a few days apart, but Jak could not read the words—spoken, their language was identical, but written it was completely alien, so he had no true idea. He could only really tell what they were through pictures—but why else would their faces be on fliers? Small children were not normally criminals—so they had to be missing people.

Crime syndicates did not kidnap like this. They took people one by one and left ransom notes pretty quick, so people usually knew where they loved ones were. Only when ransom was not paid were they murdered or sold off. His hands tightened on the papers. No. This was—Jak swallowed hard and pushed memories of the Dark Warrior Program from his mind—_this_ was what happened when governments did not have criminals to experiment on. At best—judging by the mostly consistent photograph quality and the condition of the paper—they were all just days apart—at least twelve people had gone missing in a short time. Most likely just in this neighborhood alone—and this city had once been huge. Small towns did not have walls—and huge cities did not have walls unless there was something that needed to be kept out, right?

This place was reminding him more and more of Haven City by the second. He cycled through them again.

Aerith stood up and smoothed out the curfew flier. She stuck it back up again, "Jak, that is littering—Jak, why are you looking at those?"

"What happened to these people?"

"They vanished." She answered slowly, her eyebrows knitted, and she grew wary of him.

"Yes, but how?" he held them in her face, "How did it happen? _What_ happened to them? And why are these the only fliers? Why weren't new ones put up or these replaced? Why are they ten years old?"

"Jak—let's not talk about it."

She sounded genuinely hurt. She was old enough to remember what had happened—not the cause, but the effect. If it was really still unresolved...but how could it still be unresolved? Ten years later, and the crime was still at a dead end? No resolution at all? Jak lowered the missing persons fliers and looked at the first one. He was young—a teenager. Probably the same age Jak had been when _he _was casually plucked from the streets. He had dark hair and blue eyes—the photograph was in color, so there was no guess work to be done there.

"Did you... Did you know any of them."

She looked away, towards Cloud, who had gone back to hanging around out of earshot, then she looked back at Jak. She took away the first wanted poster—the dark-haired and blue-eyed one—and said, "Yes. I knew him. His name was Zack. He was... Very important to me."

He was younger than her—but he supposed she must have been younger then, too. Aerith smiled and Jak knew that look. Keira always wore it when she thought about missing him—and he wore it when he had missed her. It was just a little glimpse of the gaping void below. "I'm sorry."

"It happened just before the Heartless came for the first time." She replied, "We figure—they had something to do with it, just taking one or two people before they consumed the world."

"You didn't hear any rumors or anything?"

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She wanted to ask why this seemed to strike such a cord with him, but she left it unsaid, probably because she knew if she did, he would drop it immediately and try to pretend it never happened. "Our Governor, Ansem the Wise, was a man of science. Some people say his security officers grabbed people when they thought no one could see—and took them away."

Of course. He felt a bitter taste rise in his mouth and his heart began to pound in his chest. "Do you believe it?"

"Ansem the Wise was a good man." She insisted, "He would never abduct people to experiment on them."

"But do you believe it?"

"I just said—"

"Ansem the Wise and Ansem the Wise's security are two different things." Jak replied. He distanced himself from his own story and chose his words carefully, "In my experience, rulers don't like to be seen getting their hands dirty. That doesn't mean they won't."

Aerith looked offended at first, but then she must have seen something in his face that made her change her mind. She cut him wide open when she asked, "And what _is_ your experience, Jak?"

"Suppose he knew about the Heartless before the rest of you?"

Her face said everything: she did not believe him, "He was studying the Heartless—but why does that have to mean he would do experiments on people, Jak?"

He knew what this was about—it was about how he had transformed. Of course. There was no denying it now. They really must have seen. Jak huffed in frustration, plucked the wanted poster of her most-likely former boyfriend from her hand. It was going to happen eventually, "Well, that's what happened to _me._"

She blinked, tilted her head. It was polite of her to pretend she was clueless about it, "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to talk about it. It's in the past." He held up the posters again, "Now, tell me about what happened to them."

"I don't want to talk about it." She replied bluntly, "It's in the past."

Jak nearly kicked himself. He had walked _right_ into that, and he had no one to blame but himself. With a heavy sigh, he explained, "I'm a science experiment." He told her, "That stuff I said was extremely dangerous? Yeah. A panel of renowned scientist, an _ethics committee_, decided it would be a good idea to try injecting a fifteen-year-old kid with that stuff."

"Oh." Aerith's eyebrows knitted. She glanced at his ear—she knew what the id number was for now, she was nice enough not to ask for confirmation. "But why you?"

He wished he had an answer. He should have—with as much as he had stewed on it over two years, and then some. But he did not. He knew why it _worked. _It was because he could channel Eco so well—but he had no idea how they knew about him. "I don't know." Jak replied, "I don't know how they knew about me. I proved it could be done, but I don't know how they knew about me." He held the posters in her face again and reminded her, "Zack?"

"Right." She replied, looking at the poster, "He was the only one that lived in this neighborhood—Leon and I lived a short walk from here—but it's too damaged. Yuffie lived a little beyond that, on the west side, and I don't know where Cloud lived. But, Leon, Zack and I—we were good friends. I was familiar with a lot of people from this neighborhood, even if only in passing." She sorted through them for a long time. Jak wondered briefly if it was a stalling tactic, or if she was actually doing something, "Lea and Isa—they were good friends, and always trying to break into the castle." She showed him the first poster, two teenagers, one with green eyes and red hair, the other with blue eyes and blue hair.

Jak thought it was strange, but his hair was green at the roots. He had no room to talk.

"They would babysit—" she paused for a moment to sort through it again, "Kairi. This girl. She was shy, lived with her grandmother, who cleaned Ansem's house. She often took Kairi with her when Lea and Isa were in school and too busy to watch her. Kairi always came back with—tall tales. And that was why they were so keen on getting in. They wanted to see if it was true."

"Did they ever make it?"

"They never made it far, at first." Aerith put the stack back into its proper order, "But they might have, one day. Theirs is the only disappearance that could be tied to Ansem—but there was no proof."

"But Kairi? Her Grandmother—"

"If Ansem _was_ doing anything evil, do you really think he would take his cleaning lady's granddaughter?"

Jak thought about it for a moment, and after a minute of wondering how Ansem could possibly be evil, it struck him that it did seem odd that he—not odd, rude—that he had just assumed it ahead of time. He asked, "You think he's still alive?"

"I know—" She stopped herself. She knew something and she did not want to tell him, but hiding the truth was not in her nature, so she went ahead and fessed up "I know Kairi is."

"And you haven't talked to her about this? Why the hell not? Where is she?"

"She's..." Aerith did not want to say it. She frowned, knitted her eyebrows and blinked, trying to find something else to say, anything else to say but the truth, "_Not_ _here._"

* * *

><p>I have hand-picked every characters setting (Jak, Keira, Tess and Daxter) to give each one the maximum amount of character development.<p>

Jak is put in the place with the past that strikes a chord with him-the missing people. Gives him something to do.

Gun-toting, booze-peddling, self-reliant Tess is put in Twilight town (CLEARLY the place with the strictest child protection laws.)

Keira, the satellite, in small-town destiny islands, where she will be the center of attention.

And Daxter...? Ahaha

Ahahahaahha.


	4. Chapter 3

Taking Orders From Nobody:

(Disclaimed)

Okay, next week, I'll be moving this to the cross over section.

So tell your friends and stuff.

Still, really glad it's gotten some support.

* * *

><p>Chapter three:<p>

Daxter kept high. With his tiny claws, he climbed up the black sky scrapers, keeping off of the ground and the swarms of Heartless below. He had to avoid them, so he climbed as high as he dared. It was dark; the only sign of light came from never-flickering, always-lit neon signs. There was no starlight. There was no sign of dawn. There was something about this place that made his fur stand on end and his whiskers quiver. Maybe it was the Heartless below him; maybe it was that there were no people anywhere. Maybe it was that there was no sun.

Daxter kept high. He bounded off of one wall and onto another, and he climbed even higher. The shadows would appear on the narrow ledges, but they were easy to avoid, and to shove off the edges if he had too. He was fast enough to out run them, but he could not take the safer road down below, because they would overwhelm him and bog him down. He could slip out of a pile up, but he would risk getting caught in another one. The shadows were as tall as him, when both were standing tall, but they were much bigger.

His hands found the final ledge of a building, and he pushed himself upwards onto it, the claws on his back legs scraping against the brick. He got a good look at the sprawling, black cityscape around him. It rivaled Haven City in terms of size and construction integrity. Everything was well put together—and it reached out as far as he could see.

The cartoonish, heart-shaped moon floating above completely ruined it, though. Daxter saw it, just floating here, and despite himself, he snorted and covered his mouth, "What?" It was either waxing or waning, Daxter could not tell. It was a gibbous heart-shaped moon, not a full moon. And, no; real, genuine, moonlike characteristics like craters and phases did not make it any less ridiculous.

He stopped snickering and remained himself that he was on a flat, open surface. The Heartless could find him here, and they _would_ converge. He had to keep moving.

This world... It seemed to be teetering on the edge of something horrible. Daxter had ridden on Jak's shoulder, he _knew_ what teetering on the edge of "something horrible" felt like.

He reached a point where he could no longer continue. There was a great, glowing crater in front of him, about twenty stories below ground level. He was probably about forty stories up, perhaps more, so at its lowest point—dead center—it was roughly sixty floors down, though Daxter could not truly see that—it was glowing too brightly. He did not even try to estimate what its diameter was. He was not good at estimating distances. He was still not used to being two feet tall. It really threw him off. Floating above this crater was a pale grey castle. The heart-shaped moon loomed above it, and managed to look sinister despite itself.

He looked around. The Heartless did not seem to be converging on him, but he did not want to remain here. Still, he was tired of running and climbing. He swallowed, though his mouth had gone dry and he was only shifting thin, dry sludge, which made him thirsty. He panted as he slowly walked over to the edge of the building, close to the crater.

He looked down and saw a bright patch of red-orange on the blue street below. Daxter moved closer. It was a person. He thought with a skip in his chest, at first, that it was Ashlin, but the person was too skinny, and the hair was wrong. He had simply been wishing. Perhaps it was Jak. Perhaps the light simply made his blonde hair look—

It was not Jak. If Jak was here Daxter would have seen him first thing.

Whoever this person was, the Heartless were not attacking him—and that was something to take an interest in. If he had some trick, Daxter needed it. He made his way down the wall and got closer, dropping down silently from ledge to ledge, making his way back along the street, keeping behind him and shadowing him. He was tall—very tall. Taller than Jak ever hoped to be. He nearly rivaled Sig on height.

So, here he was, tall as a redwood, thin as a willow. His hair behaved like Jak's did, flaring up, but keeping itself back. Daxter slinked up beside him, and finally spoke, "Hey."

With a jump, he turned around, did not see anyone of a reasonable height, and then looked down.

"Who are you?" Daxter asked.

"Who are _you_?" the stranger replied. Daxter moved back. This was not his home turf, so he obliged.

"Daxter."

"Axel." The stranger replied. He motioned for Daxter to follow him. Together, they walked away from the grey castle. Axel made the conversation, "You must be new here."

It was not that hard of a conclusion to draw, "Yeah."

"So, how are you liking it so far? I know Xemnas can be a little... intimidating, but—"

What? What the actual hell? What had Daxter said to make this guy believe he was already well ensconced in whatever black-clad freak show he was? He replayed every word in his head, all five of them, while Axel rambled on about the hierarchy and who was who and who did what, before Daxter finally could not take it anymore, "What?"

"What?" Axel replied, "We _do_ need to get you a uniform—though I suppose it's being worked on—We don't have one your size laying around—well, actually, we did. But the mouse stole it.

"You lost me at Xemnas!"

"But you must have seen him!" Axel replied, "You were named."

"What?"

"Daxter." He said, "So, who were you before?"

Daxter tilted his head, and tried to make sense of the question. This red-head must be very perceptive if he could tell that Daxter had not always been a rodent, "Well, I was a person."

"That's weird. Somebodies don't normally turn into animals—Actually, they never have before."

That was an odd piece of dialect. Daxter understood it, though, so he ignored it, "Yeah, I fell into da—"

"But what was your name?"

He might actually be a little thick, which was a strange combination with perceptive, though Jak did have the same problem. "Daxter." he repeated.

Axel stopped. They were on the edge of the crater, and a glowing blue bridge magically appeared out of nowhere. "No, your name _before._ When you were somebody."

"Daxter!" he insisted, getting frustrated.

"No, that's _now_, what was it then? Don't tell me you've forgotten already?"

Daxter was flustered now. He straightened up, glared at him, his paws clenching into little fists and his hair bristling. His tail rose up, "My name has always been Daxter!"

Axel stopped and focused his sharp teal eyes on Daxter. His eyes narrowed, he looked confused, then he took a step away, confusion gave way to disbelief, "...You're not a Nobody?"

"Listen, hothead," Daxter crossed his arms, "You can diss self-confidence all you like. I know I ain't the hero, but I ain't a Nobody."

"You're just..." There was a long pause, and Axel looked very confused again. The wheels in his head were turning—he was not expecting this. "A talking rodent who's name just happens to have an X in it?"

Daxter considered it. He did not quite understand what Axel was getting at, "Yeah."

"Huh." The red-head huffed. He looked around, and then decided it would be best just to hoist Daxter up. Daxter crawled up his arm to his shoulder, and wove a paw through his hair, and lamented, silently, that his shoulder was even bonier and more uncomfortable than Jak's.

He looked at the castle, and turned and headed back towards it, "Do you even know what a Nobody is?"

"Nope."

"What about the Heartless?"

"I know about the Heartless, alright." Daxter replied, "I ain't ever been more scared of butter-cup yellow."

"A Nobody is what's left after a Heartless gets created. A Heartless is the heart that is lost to darkness, a Nobody is the husk that carries on."

"Then—then aren't the names wrong?" Daxter asked.

"What?"

"The names. If the Nobody's the body without the heart _it_ should be called the Heartless. If the Heartless has the heart, shouldn't _it_ be the Nobody?"

"You've got a point." Axel shrugged, "But that's just what we call em."

There was a lull in the conversation, and Daxter asked a burning question, "So, what's with the cartoonish heart-shaped moon?"

Axel snorted, covered his mouth and said, "That's Kingdom Hearts—or, part of it, anyway. We're making it out of hearts the Heartless take."

"What now?"

"We'll get new hearts if we make it."

"But—but aren't people losing theirs?"

"Yes."

Daxter wanted off. He jumped down and landed right in front of Axel, "Hold on just a hot minute!" he crossed his arms, "The Heartless take hearts, right? They take hearts and put them in there?!" he pointed at Kingdom Hearts, "So that you can get _your heart_ back? Which the Heartless _also_ took?"

"Yeah."

"How many hearts do you need? Everyone in Haven City? Wouldn't it just be easier to go _look_ for your heart?"

Axel looked back, "There's a lot of hearts in there."

"And whose fault is that?!"

There was a long pause again. Axel frowned, looked back at Daxter, and said, "Well, my heart could be anywhere. It might not even be in there—it could be out somewhere totally random."

Daxter was not buying into his crap. It did not sit well with him, because to the best of his knowledge _Jak's_ heart was heading to that thing and Daxter was powerless to stop it, "What happens to the hearts when you're done with them?"

Axel stopped to think for a third time. They were standing just before a really, really tall building—with a wreaked truck blocking up the alleyway to their left. Right was the only path they could take. Axel seemed to realize then, that it was raining. He put his hood up and confessed, "Dunno."

Daxter huffed, and considered slinking away, but two things happened. One, he realized that there was probably no one else around for miles—more than miles, maybe—and two, the drizzle became a sudden, cold deluge, the kind that would soak him to the bone in a matter of minutes, and he's smell like, well, like a _wet ostelle_ for days after wards. Axel picked him up again and let him crawl in under his hood before he got too wet.

"I'm just a little upset." Daxter said, head just under his chin, "That _my_ entire world had to go under just so you could get a new heart."

"And I'm not—" Axel's voice rumbled against Daxter's paw. "I guess that's why I need a heart."

Daxter was royally pissed by that comment, and he considered pointing out that he was about two casually dismissive sentences away from being a bigger sack of shit than Krew, who really did have Haven City's largest sack of shit award currently. Axel had just passed the second runner up, though, and that was Errol.

Axel sighed and tried to convince Daxter he was not all bad, "I know I should be."

"Doesn't help."

"I remember what being upset feels like."

"Not. Helping."

"If it were up to me, I'd return the hearts." Axel confessed, "And—and once I had one, I'd probably feel like it. I think. From what I remember of myself, that's something I'd do."

"What do you remember of yourself?"

There was another pause. Axel kept walking, and Daxter wondered for a moment if he had forgotten they were talking, until he said, "I really liked Frisbee."

"That's it?" Daxter asked, bluntly and still short tempered, "You remember you like frisbee?"

It was very anti-climactic. "Yes." Axel changed the subject, "You need a name."

"I _have _a name."

"I mean a fake name for your fake somebody."

"Why do I need a fake somebody?"

"Because how else are you going to blend in here?"

Axel had a point. Daxter adjusted himself in his hood around his neck. Axel did not show a sign of being tickled. Heartless, indeed. When he was settled in, he asked, "What was yours?"

"Lea, I think. You forget after a while. It's been a few years. Actually, it's been ten." He held a hand to his chin, "Daxter gives us a lot to work with. D-A-T-E-R."

"You forgot the X."

Axel removed his hand from his chin, and suddenly seemed to remember that there was a pettable head just around his neck. He gave Daxter a little scratch. Daxter swatted his hand away. He shook his gloved fingers as he jerked his hand back and returned it to his side. His arms swung very slightly when he walked, and Daxter had a hard time adjusting too it, because he was used to a much more dramatic swing from Jak. He explained, "Yes, I know. That's the point. Xemnas will scramble it back up, and he'll put the X back in so with any luck you'll just be Daxter again."

"What?"

"See, 'Lea' plus 'X' is 'Axel.' 'Isa' and 'X' is 'Saix.'" He started listing all of the possible combinations that Daxter's name sans the X would get them. He probably could have gone on for at two minutes—there were over a hundred combinations, but that was two minutes Daxter did not want to waste.

"Ardet." Daxter said, "My somebody was named Ardet."

"Okay." Axel shut up about it, "Ardet it is—was then."

They had reached the end of an alleyway, and the end of the road. Axel turned around, and walked back. While he was walking, he asked, "What do you fight with?"

"Fight?"

"Yeah—you made it through, you must have fought the Heartless off somehow, right?"

Daxter doubted sheer balls counted as a legitimate answer, and even then, he doubted it was true. "I didn't. It was just luck—but I worked as an exterminator for a couple of months. I'm pretty handy with a fly swatter."

Axel laughed. It was not real. Daxter could tell now, and it irritated him. He dug his claws into Axel's collarbone. The red-head cringed and stopped laughing immediately, "I still feel pain you know."

_"__Good."_

"Are you still mad?" There was no hint of disbelief—it was an honest question.

"What do you _think_!?"

There was a pause, then, "That's okay, you can be mad—but I don't think fly swatters really... Well, we _have_ fly swatters... But they aren't nice fly swatters."

"What does it matter?"

"Organization XII has an image to maintain."

"And you care about it despite the inability to care?"

There was that pause again.

"Really." Axel said, "You don't want it. It's a plane-jane fly swatter one of us bought from this store in this world called Ohana Islands—it's beat up and tacky and has a little hula dancer on the handle."

"Sweet!"

Axel started to fake laugh. He immediately stopped. They had just passed the tallest skyscraper again. Daxter poked his head out of the hood to take a look at the top. It was really, really high up. The rain poured down even harder now, and when he drew his head back in, his nose was drenched.

Axel had one more suggestion, "If you gave up talking, you could just be my pet."

"Never." Daxter replied, "Just ask Jak if you get a chance—I'm a terrible backseat driver. I can't keep my mouth shut. Not on your life."

"It was a thought." Axel shrugged, "Who's Jak?"

"Buddy of mine." Daxter told him, "He and I go way back—course it's his fault I'm like this. It's no wonder I'm giving orders all the time. Can't fight a monster without my help."

"So you're a talking rodent strategist?"

"Yeah." Daxter nodded, "Pretty much."

They were silent until they reached the gray castle again. Axel asked, "You ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Daxter replied.

Axel crossed the bridge to the castle. It was entirely gray and white inside. A weird, unwelcome change. The place looked too big and very freaky, and gave the feeling of being made out of old circuit boards and exposed pipes. But, it was dry—and that change was welcome. Axel took off his hood and Daxter wasted no time jumping down and shaking off all the water he could. He followed Axel through the maze of white towards a central meeting room with thirteen chairs in a circle. They were all of various heights, but all of them were empty, except for a blond punk with a mullet, playing a flamboyant blue guitar and wearing the same clothes as Axel.

In Haven City, mullets were something of a bad joke, and the fact that even Torn and Ashelin had both had one at some point in their careers, and there were photographs to prove it was the cause of much hysterical laughter. It was the _only_ reason Daxter knew what they were. He would have laughed, but he reminded himself that he was supposed to be a heartless Nobody.

And he supposed he had to act like somewhere out there, he had a Heartless with no body.

That was going to be impossible to keep straight.

But, he did not laugh. The teenager saw him, and asked immediately, "Getting a pet Axel?"

"Hey!" Daxter barked, "I'm a Nobody same as you!"

"Still in the habit of getting offended?" Mullet grinned.

"Yeah." Daxter faked settling down, "Hard one to break."

He laughed, "You don't really break it." Without a thought to his ankles, he dropped down from his high seat and strode towards Daxter without missing a beat, "I'm Demyx. It's good that we're getting a new member—Organization XII just doesn't feel right without thirteen."

"So, you've got twelve?"

"No." Demyx shrugged and grinned, "We have seven. I consider calling us the magnificent seven, but now we're to be eight, so I guess it's too late."

He laughed. Daxter tried to keep the frown off his face. The smiles were fake. The laughter was fake. It angered him, enough to let it show, but he knew he could not. When he heard Axel faking laughter too, he faked it himself. Faking it must be the norm. Daxter guessed it was to keep remembering what it felt like to have a heart.

And with that thought, a little sympathy struck him. Daxter had come through in one piece, heart, limbs, fur and all. He felt a little empty without Jak—he felt very empty without Jak, and he worried about everyone else. Being without a heart gave them a goal, but they had no moral compass to keep them from doing whatever it took—and Daxter supposed that was what they were doing. Whatever it took. Faking it must just be a little way to cope with it. He looked from one to the other. They both looked like they could be standing so close—but they seemed so far apart. And it was sad.

"So, what was your name?" Demyx asked, tilting his head.

"Ardet." Daxter replied flawlessly.

"Ardet." Demyx echoed, "Lot of combinations with that one—well, it's all up to Xemnas. Whatever pops into his head is what you'll get."

"Who were you?"

"Oh, um..." Demyx paused. "I've forgotten."

Daxter looked at Axel who just shrugged and said, "It happens."

Forgotten his own name. Was all Axel had to cling to a name and a love of Frisbee? Did he looked like he looked now, or was it different somehow? Daxter frowned. If this really was his life now, if he had become a Nobody, he would forget so many things. Haven City, Tess, Jak. What would he even remember? It seemed like only the memorable details. He would remember Jak in form only. No name. Maybe not even a face. Just images. Jak would be reduced to a broad shoulder and a sweaty neck. Maybe Tess would be a pair of boobs under a tightly-stretched shirt. And so would Ashelin. And Keira might be a wide backside bending to examine a zoomer, a silhouette behind a green curtain.

He really needed to re-evaluate his way of looking at women.

"Xemnas." Demyx waved big, "We gotta new one."

Xemnas looked down at him, and Daxter could feel the layers being peeled away by those fiery, frightening orange eyes. He had pale, silver hair in many layers, and it was a strange contrast to his dark skin. Daxter was pretty sure that coloring had no genetic explanation—but a riveting backstory. He could just _tell. _And, probably like he could just _tell_, it seemed that Xemnas could just _tell_ that Daxter was not a nobody. Just how much of his life's history this Xemnas could read on him, Daxter had no clue. And, the instinct and the riveting backstory was all Daxter could pick up. Everything else was drawing a blank. Daxter didn't know if Xemnas was just sizing him up—really, that should not take this long—or weighing the pros and cons of having a team mascot.

"Tell me your name."

It came out with some difficulty this time, "A-ardet."

It was back to thinking again. What was he doing? What was he reading? Daxter hoped the worry was completely gone from his face. He mimicked a confident, upright posture, instead of standing on all fours. Looking like less of an animal could not hurt. Xemnas seemed to think long about those five letters, no flicker of emotion passed his face. No nothing. He must have been looking at the problem like a logical mathematically equation, which means Daxter—the obvious choice, really—would come early on and—"Tarxed." He said pointedly.

He was going by a logical, mathematical equation _backwards. _"What about Daxter?"

"I like Tarxed better." He nodded, as if he had deemed is just. His work done, he just walked out. He must know everything that went on in the castle. He probably did know Daxter was not really a Nobody.

He probably knew his real name was Daxter and he had just chosen to call him Tarxed because he wanted the entertainment.

_The entertainment he could not enjoy because clearly he did not have a heart_.

And that offended him.

But, at the same time, he did not put it past the leader of a cult that took hearts from people.

When he left, Axel snickered, mostly to himself, "_Tarxed_."

"Shut. Up."

* * *

><p>Pronounced <em>Tarks<em>-ed, not tar-_zed_


	5. Chapter 4

Taking Orders from Nobody.

(Disclaimed)

A quick note:

Tess means "Harvester" which means Tess is one corner of the trio of theme names for keyblade wielders. (Earth, Air, Water) with that in mind, any knowledgeable J/D fan can guess one other potential keybearer and adamantly deny that the third one exists.

Do they had keyblades? Yes.

Will I tell their stories? No. No I'm too lazy.

Anyway, I'm moving it into the cross over section, which is largely a dead zone, so fingers crossed,it will spread through word of mouth.

* * *

><p>Chapter four:<p>

One moment, Tess had been bravely charging forward, swinging Cloverleaf at a sea of yellow-eyed shadows, the next she was tripping over a loose cobblestone, and banging her forehead on a statue of a horse. She reeled backwards and fell painfully on her backside on a brick border of a garden-bed, while old, dry thorns scratched her arms, neck, and long ears as they caught her.

And there were no Heartless.

"Ow!" she said, getting to her feet and rubbing her bum. She planted Cloverleaf in the ground and used it to stand, straightening herself out. Oh, she would feel that in the morning. She took her hand off of her keyblade and rubbed the small of her back, it hurt from her tailbone to her kidneys. She arched her spine forward, then back, stretching out the aches and muttering to herself, "Walk it off."

The blonde girl jerked Cloverleaf out of the ground, and walked around the statue. She saw some old, dusty glass doors that were so old that they were rusted in place. She shook them with all of her might, but she could not open them. She had to resort to simple vandalism. She picked up a brick—the brick that had nearly broken her tailbone, simply out of spite, and threw it with every ounce of her strength at the glass door. She shattered the panel completely, with a great, singing crash, and jabbed off any loose bits with Cloverleaf. She went through the door into a creepy, drafty darkness.

It was quite dark out and very still. It seemed to be early in the morning, not late at night. She knew, without a doubt, that she was alone. No one would ever let a garden get that overgrown, or a glass door that dusty, or a door hinge that rusted. No house would ever be left like this—an empty, but messy kind of abandoned, like what little was left was trying to spread itself far, fill the space, as if the house wanted to be lived in again. She strode across the room, imagining the feeling of eyes drilling into her back, and tackled the heavy front doors open. She was in another courtyard, with two rows of crumbling stone pillars leading to a blackened iron gate, one side of the gate swayed lazily in the breeze, squeaking.

Tess gripped the handle of Cloverleaf and hurried forward. She slipped out of the barely-open black gate and looked back at the house. It was big, about two stories high, and she suspected there was much more of it that she had yet to see. Perhaps in the sun it was not so unsettlingly dark and quiet. She turned around, no signs of a town. She glanced up at the stars, looking for a constellation she recognized, but she could not see one familiar-not a single one, and very soon, the stars were swallowed up by the branches of trees and she had to hold her hand forward to keep from bumping into one.

At least in the woods it was not so silent. She could hear crickets; see the occasional flashes of fireflies. Things that, really, she had only ever heard of—crickets and fireflies. They were pretty rare in Haven City, particularly the slums, where there were few trees, little dirt, not even wood. Nothing natural. At night by the racing stadium, that was the only time she had ever seen them, and even then, only in spring and summer.

With thoughts of the racing stadium came thoughts of Keira, and of Haven City itself, after that, and everyone that the darkness must have swallowed up. Why, then, was she the only one spit back out? What would happen to Keira? To Jak and Daxter? To Ashelin and Torn and Old Samos? If it was possible for _her_ to survive, why not them? At the very least, Jak would, and he always did have Daxter with him, so perhaps those two had managed it.

Her eyes grew used to the darkness, and she trudged along, one hand still before her, weaving her way through the trees. Eventually, she saw a light, a faint light, distant, but constant. She made her way towards it, eyes fixed on the ground as it grew brighter and brighter, and eventually, she found exactly what she was looking for. A convenient hole in a tall brick wall, looking into a peaceful-looking town. She ducked down into the gap, and examined the town before her, it was like she was looking into another world made of warm-colored bricks, reds and yellows and terra-cotta orange, the street lamps were foggy, yellowed glass, just as inviting as everything else around her. Aside from the glaring hole in the wall, the town looked incredibly well-maintained.

Perhaps, Tess smiled to herself, the town had no _reason_ to fix the wall, no pressing threat like Metalheads, or the wasteland. The hole was just a short-cut to the woods, a nice, green place for children to play and for teenagers to get away from it all—explore the mansion beyond. Perhaps the woods were full of such secret places.

She had never been in a city that actually slept at night, or that felt safe enough to let holes form in its walls. There were no heavily armored bullies patrolling _these_ streets. No cannons, no hellcats, no propaganda machines! She had only heard tell of such places, idle dreams of people that had never seen them for themselves. Sensing no danger, she opened her hand and let Cloverleaf fall, willing it to fade away into nothingness. She could feel it nearby, almost like someone was holding it above her palm, waiting to press it into her hand when she summoned it again. She folded her hands behind her back and casually strode forward, kicking her heels and peering around curiously as she walked.

It was then that she bumped into a boy. It was hard to say who bumped into whom at that point. They were _both_ wandering around, and they _both_ simply came across one another, with quite an impact, it was as simple as that. He jumped back, shocked, as if it had never occurred to him that he might meet someone wandering around this late at night, and a sudden, terrible thought struck her.

Supposed he opened his mouth and said something in complete gibberish?

"Who are _you_?" he demanded.

Well, there went _that _worry, but it was on to the next one, now. The boy put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, and wandering in their untrusting slits from her eyes to the tip of her long, pointed ear, and he asked again, with a voice filled with disdain, "Who are you?"

"My name is Tess."

"And _what_ are you?"

She frowned, reached for the tip of her ear and gave the question some thought. Really, she knew no term for what she was—to the best of _her_ knowledge, she was a person, like anyone else, but that seemed a little open-ended, and asking _what_ she was did not seem like a complete assault on her personhood, just her ethnic identity, so she answered, "Well, dunno, really." she made up the best term she could, "Havenite?"

He seemed satisfied with that. He leaned back and crossed his arms, and asked, with a little more trust in his voice, "What are you doing here?"

"Why all these questions?"

"New faces make me nervous."

Tess resisted the mighty need to roll her eyes. Oh the places may change, but the people are the same! Instead, she answered, "My world was attacked by these creatures called the Heartless."

The distrust was back, "What?"

"Heartless." She replied, "There about the size of a crocodog and all black—they've got yellow eyes. You haven't seen one around here, have you?"

"No. I haven't." he said flatly, "And all my instincts say that's bullshit, so what are you really doing here?"

"I just found myself in that old mansion outside the wall." She explained, "You know, the one that can be reached through the hole?"

"I know it." He nodded, "What were you doing there?"

Tess frowned. She had begun to feel extremely unwelcome. Doubtless, that was the point in his many questions, obstructive attitude, and air of toughness. She could hold her own. She could stand her ground. She looked him firmly in the eye, and saw that there was kindness there. He gave trust with a great deal of difficulty, but once he was won over, he was had. He had such kind eyes for such a gruff boy, the scar was unsettling, and aroused curiosity—but nothing else. She wondered how he got it, very briefly, but there were more important questions to ask.

"What is your name? Where am I?"

"My name is Seifer." He did not want to tell her, but he did. "You're in Twilight Town."

She held out her hand to shake his own. He did not take it.

"I don't suppose you could give me the time?"

"It's eleven thirty." Seifer replied.

"What are you doing out so late?"

Seifer did not answer directly. He turned on his heel, pulled his dark knitted cap over his hair, and said, "Buzz off."

And there it was. That teenage boy he really was, walking off in a sulk. Tess chose to let him go. She looked around and said aloud to herself, "If I'm going to be stuck here, I'll need a job. It's late still—but he didn't look to be going to a job. I doubt he's headed to work. He must be headed home, so—nightlife's where he just came from."

She pointed in the opposite direction and followed her finger. She backtracked, and then simply guessed Seifer's path before he had bumped into her. She went past a sandlot, down an alleyway, and wandered for a bit before she found a bar.

It was a pretty extravagant place, considering how tucked away it was, but it was the only one she had seen, so it would probably be in full swing soon. The sign above the was in big, marquee-style lettering, but she realized with a stone sinking into her gut that she had no idea what it said. She could understand the language, but she could not read it. Below that, there was a little patio with a few tables and a single patron smoking, leaning against the metal fence. The doors were big, and mostly glass, the kind that was cut and etched and foggy to hide what was really going on inside. But, it was bright, and she could hear faint music drifting through the cracks, and laughter. It looked like a regular, run on the mill bar. She straightened up, steadied her resolve, and strode forward. She pushed open the doors and looked around. There was a lot she had to assess in a very brief period of time. There were tables, people playing cards, and roulette. A gambling den as well as a bar—that was bad for tips.

She saw no waitresses—at least, no girls in a uniform. A casual dress code was a plus. Drunk men tended to cat-call a little bit more at girls in uniform. That was just Tess's experience. She strode right to the bar tender. Crowds were much easier to weave through when she did not have to dodge the long ears. Hers kept bumping people, they kept looking, pointing, and she heard someone ask, "Cosplay?"

She wondered what that was, but only briefly. She looked right at the bar-tender, and sized him up. He was a pretty normal looking man, portly, with a mustache and a head of thinning brown hair. He looked at her, then at her long ears, then the rest of her as she strode over.

When she reached the bar, she said, "I'd like to speak to the manager."

"He's not here—can I help you?"

Tess steeled herself. She knew how to get a job—it was by going straight up to the manager, looking him square in the eye, and grabbing him by the balls—metaphorically. "No. I'd like to speak to the manager." She repeated firmly, "As soon as possible."

She was ready to engage him in a stare-down, but she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, which was a gentle, steering motion, and she found she was being herded towards the door, while a voice smoothly instructed her, "This is no place for a young lady."

"Excuse me!" Tess exclaimed, slipping out of his arm just as fluidly, "Are _you_ the manager?"

"Of course." He replied, "Do you really think a patron would try to force a pretty young lady out of a bar?"

Tess knew it was a quip, but she did not smile. When he saw she was not going to offer so much as a chuckle, he dropped his arm. He was a man of average height and eccentric dress, prematurely grey or perhaps platinum blonde, the light made it hard to tell. He could not be more than twenty. He must have bought the bar or inherited it. Or, perhaps he really did start it himself, she did not need to sell him short. When he saw she was not going to leave, he motioned her away from the front door and to the privacy of his office, straight through the crowd and to the back wall.

"If you do have urgent business with me, perhaps we could talk in a place more private?"

"No. Out here is fine."

"Please?"

It was time to bend, "Yes sir." She walked towards the office door, with the manager right behind. The door was solid oak, no window, the doorknob was brass, and the plaque on the door, about eye-level, told her what the man's name was. She recognized the same word from outside, and a second one, a first name and a last name. It was the surname that matched—she was leaning towards the 'inherited' theory_._ Compared to the richly colored bar outside, the office beyond the door was very plain. The fanciest thing inside it was the high-backed swivel chair and matching desk. It was stained to look like cherry wood, but it was curly maple, dinged and scratched, obviously second hand. The walls were unfinished, and there was just a calendar on the wall. Landscapes a pink sunset over a sea, the sun falling just behind a little island. Must be late summer, or the end of vacation time. Tess thought about it. In Krew's office, there had been pin-ups, but as she watched this man take off his long, gold-trimmed coat, and hang it on the hat stand, then sit down primly at his desk, she could tell he was not the type for pin-ups.

"Now, wha—"

She did not let him finish, "I'd like job."

He blinked, shocked, and leaned back. In this light, it was much easier to tell his hair was just very light blonde. "W-what?"

"My name is Tess. I'd like a job." she repeated, "I have references." She frowned, "You won't be able to contact them, though."

"Yes. I know. It's quite obvious you are not from here." He replied, "But I can't give you a job. You're a sixteen year old girl—you should be in school—" he reconsidered, "You should be in _bed_—not a bar."

"Because I'm a girl?"

"No. Because you're sixteen." He replied,

"I'm eighteen." she put on her best poker face and lied.

"No you aren't. Perhaps where you came from, you could find work in a place like this, but I'm sorry, I'm unable to hire you. It's not legal here."

She had started with the word "like" again. That was a passive word. That was a mistake. "I _need_ a job."

"Best of luck to you." He said, "List me as a reference. My name is Setzer Gabbiani, my phone number—"

"I'm not leaving until you give me a job."

"I can give you a place to stay." He said, "I can't give you a job."

Tess stepped back. Her stomach lurched. She had been friends with _Keira_, and she knew "I can give you a place to stay" was a bombshell, a red flag, the que to push the panic button and high-tail it out of there. Setzer tilted his head, confused by her reaction. It was a road she wanted to avoid going down. But, to the best of her knowledge, no one was being carted off to a secret testing facility. She mulled over it for a while, glaring at him, jutting out her lower lip in a cute baby-girl pout.

Setzer was not Krew. Long eyelashes, cherubic features and boobs were not getting her anywhere. On the one hand, it was a breath of fresh air, on the other, it was _really annoying_ because the one job she knew she was one hundred percent good at—getting tips because of her looks—was out of her reach. Because of a law that must expressly forbid girls using their pretty face to get money from drunk men, or something. Sezter cleared his throat and added, "You can look for work first thing in the morning, another place to live, if you like—I won't have it be said that I left a girl on the streets."

She relaxed her glare, and started looking into other options. If bars were out of the question, maybe a gun store?

Setzer did not seem to realize she was deep in thought. He stood up—clearly eager to get her to leave the bar. He took his coat from the stand again and put it on, then put his hand on the door knob. "I don't live far—I'll take you there myself." He stood up and got the door for her.

Selling was out of the question, maybe she could stall him into a deal. It was just a _law_ after all. People broke laws in Haven City all the time, and it was no big deal at all. It was probably not even enforced. "Is there a gun store in this town?"

"_What?"_

"A gun store." She replied, "I can make guns—it's a hobby, but if I can't work in a bar..."

"No. There is no gun store in Twilight Town." He told her, "Guns are also not legal here. Have you worked in a place that is acceptable for a girl your age?"

Tess thought about it. Her uncle's gun store? Nope. The bar? Nope? The underground's in no-way medically sufficient hospital? Nope.

"I sold concessions at a racing arena, once."

And by concessions, she meant cigarettes, and beer and peanuts, but it was all she had to offer.

"We don't really have an arena in this town..."

"But I can do so many things!" she tried to sell her talents again, "I can wait tables, I can memorize cocktails in record time. I'm a better shot that any boy, I promise, I can—I'm a really good negotiator, and if you need me to find dirt on someone, I'm your girl. I'm a good spy, and I've got the third best record for breaking into a safe without using explosives."

"Tess, someday, you will tell me the riveting tale of how you acquired those skills." She could tell by his tone he did not believe her. He was not interested in letting any of her tactics work. He was not Krew—baseness could not get the better of him, and he wasn't Torn or Jak, impatience would not sway him, either. He took her arm like a complete gentleman and helped her to her feet. He steered her gently to the door.

She stuck out her lower lip and put her hand on her hip, before she could even try to pout again, he stopped her, "No, I'm sorry." He said, "I can't hire you—it's a law and I'm not going to break it. Nothing you can do will change that."

She opened her mouth, he cut her off again.

"I'll give you some money—"

She growled furiously.

"Don't refuse charity when you're begging for a job." He chided her, "You can look of a job and buy yourself some new clothes in the morning—"

"Excuse me?"

"As a general rule, it's bad form to look for a job with an exposed navel."

Tess looked at his waistline: Just above the shining metal skull at his belt, and peeking out behind the curtain of his tantalizingly-short purple shirt, was his belly button. He tried, and failed, to tug the shirt down without her noticing. He knew he was caught. She knew she had caught him.

It was not going to get her a job, but it would get her some satisfaction to not only have _his_ card in her hand, but a second one.

"Seifer's navel was exposed." She replied, snidely.

"Yes, and he's unemployed." Setzer smirked.

She huffed again, quieter this time.

Setzer made damn sure she followed him to his apartment that really was not too far away. It was just like his office. The reception desk and the foyer were pretty and well kept, but his apartment on its own was sparse and plain. The walls were white, there was only one couch, that folded out into a full bed, in front of a little television and one bedroom—not precisely bare bones—but a bit sparse, with the minimum furniture, and it all looked second hand, anyway. The table in the kitchen would comfortably seat two, but not many more. If Setzer did any entertaining, he must have used his own bar.

She looked at his extravagant clothes and did not even try to hide the judgment on her face.

Setzer chose to ignore it. He stated plainly, "I'll see you in the morning." And left again.

Tess sat down on the couch and frowned. To her, it had just been morning, and she was hardly tired. She looked at the clock, and saw that it was only twelve and thirty minutes—but that meant nothing to her, because it took her only two second to realize that this place—what even was this place?—could measure time anyway it wanted, and there was no promise it was like Haven City at all.

And that was fantastic.

She sat down on the couch and took the time to wonder what had happened to everyone else. Daxter said that he had the same dream as hers, but hers had filled her with such reassurance and warmth. She was the key to everything, the voice had told her, the key to saving the world.

But what was the point if it was lost now? Or, the point if it was still there, while she was here?

She summoned Cloverleaf to her and wondered deeply about it. She ran her fingers along the leaf-shaped double-head of the key's teeth. They were open, like hearts, ending in two teeth each time. It was a pale green, and she did not know what kind of metal it was. It sounded like solid steel—but it was as light as aluminum. The handle was pink and soft in her hand, decorated with a pink bow. It looked _right_ in her hand. It looked perfect.

But how could she save Haven City if she was not _in_ Haven City?

And why did everyone else fail the world's test? She could not be the only person worthy of a keyblade? Surely there must be one more? Why not Jak? What went wrong there? Perhaps if he had not been so jaded by his life?

She sighed heavily, laid back on the couch and admired her keyblade. She had never gotten a chance to really bond with it, and it kind of seemed important. It had gotten her through the darkness—but at least, to her, it had never been _just _a keyblade. It had always been, from the moment she had seen it, _Cloverleaf._

"But how do I get back?" she asked no one in particular, "There must be a way."


	6. Chapter 5

Taking orders from Nobody.

(disclaimed.)

I love this chapter. It's so peaceful.

* * *

><p>Chapter Five:<p>

Sand.

Keira picked herself up, felt it cave and shift under her outstretched fingers, her elbows. Sand? At first, she thought of the wasteland. She turned onto her back and looked for a light source. Slowly, the world came into focus. She saw a few rocks above her head, supported by each other and a few sturdy roots. There were some gaps in the rocks above her, and beyond them she could see stars.

There was a hissing, roaring rumble that shook the walls of the cave and led her hear the entrance. She followed the noise, and when she saw light from the outside, she knew it was the sound of waves on a beach. She picked up the pace and scrambled forward.

She lost her footing and fell into a freshwater pool. It was deliberately made, lined with wood along the edges, and smoothly laid stones and mortar at the bottom. It was freezing. The sudden cold jolted her out of her rush and calmed her down significantly. She had hardly realized that the panic had been bubbling inside her stomach. She righted herself and saw a little waterfall in the starlight. She climbed out of the pool and walked the rest of the way to the beach, dripping wet. She sat down on the sand and watched the waves roll in.

At least the waves sounded the same, and the sunrise looked the same on the water.

Except the sun was a pale yellow, for some reason.

A yellow sun. How strange. Keira took a handful of sand in her fingers and let it spill down. The sand felt the same. She took off her shoes and spread her toes. She was safe, for the time being. When the light improved—which looked to be soon—she would search the island for food, look for shelter, whatever needed to be done. She had not quite forgotten rustic life. She laid back on the sand and watched the sky lighten. She did not want to, but she could not help it. She wondered what happened to Jak and Daxter, and what had happened to Tess.

And there was the panic again, fluttering in her gut.

She caught a chill and rubbed her arms to warm herself. Everyone was gone. Daddy, Jak... Every one. She plopped down in the sand again. It was cool against the small of her back, a little damp. She looked up to the stars, tried to find a formation she recognized, she did not. She saw a moon, shining brightly in the sky, fading away as the pink from the sunrise lit up the sky. Warm pink on the sea, pink on the sand, so much warmer than the cold blue of the night. She watched the color creep across the sky, and she wondered if she would be alone on this island forever.

The pool was obviously man-made and the door was as well, and she saw a little bridge headed out to an island that was very close to the main one, a flat-topped spire jutting up from the water with a tree reaching out towards the sea, and a small dock on her right. They all looked fairly new—this place did not seem to be abandoned, but she saw no one, and the island was very small, she probably would have seen someone, or heard them.

Would she be alone forever?

She sat up again, and looked around. No one was around. As much as she dreaded to admit it, it was highly unlikely that she would see anyone she knew again. She tried to push the thought from her mind, but she failed. It was better, in some ways, to be in danger and with someone, than safe and so utterly alone. The creeping feeling returned—that same all-consuming fear that she felt when she called Jak, and she had heard it in his voice as well. Oh, he tried so valiantly to hide it—he always tried to hide it. But boys his age had fifteen, sixteen years to keep emotions out of their voice, poor Jak had been given only one and a third, by his guess, and he had just that much time keeping his emotions from running wild over the lines of his face, and out of his body language. He wore that broken heart on his sleeve, and there was no way he could ever truly learn to hide it away.

She tried not to think about Jak. Thinking about him just made her miss him all the more—and brought with him memories of her father, and Daxter, and Tess. Also Ashelin, but she did not miss her all that much, and Krew, but he was dead already and that was good riddance, in her opinion. There was an entire line of people, most of which Keira did not know, that were simply _gone._ It was hard to comprehend—it was impossible.

It was so unfair that he was not with her. She had only just found him again. After two years, he was gone in the blink of an eye. Everything was gone in the blink of an eye. How could it happen so quickly? She wanted to tell herself that she was only dreaming. In a while, she would wake up in her bed and none of this would have happened. Nothing at all. But she knew that was not true. Everything up until this point was still burned vividly into her mind. She could recall details from her dream of the void, Jak's face, broken in anguish, on the pillar of glass.

As much as she wanted to sit there and cry, there were much more important things to do.

The sky had gone from the pink of the dawn to the blue of morning, so she picked herself up and began to explore the island for resources. There were fish in the sea, and fresh water to drink, she could sharpen a stick to skewer them and build a fire to cook them, so she could last a week on that alone. The trees held coconuts, and hidden in nooks and crannies, there were probably mushrooms to eat. She could survive, though she did not know how long.

If she could cut down the trees, she could build herself a raft and drift on the tide, but that would certainly be suicide, she could not see any sign of land, and it was unlikely that the current would take her anywhere friendly—if only she had an axe. There had been people here, that much she knew, there were many places to find shelter, the cave she had entered, a little shack with a set of stairs leading to the second island. She dropped down from the bridge to the beach again and continued to walk. It did not look abandoned.

But no axe!

And even then, no rope.

The structures were rudimentary, but very stable. They would weather a storm.

By the precursors, there was a raft!

What was it doing here? Had someone sailed here? Had it drifted here? Fortunately, she saw no dead bodies or skeletons near it, and that was an encouraging sign. Whoever put it there might have gotten off of the island, and it did not look damaged, so she could use it, in emergency, but perhaps it had drifted here, and whoever had sailed it had been rescued?

It was not a perfect vessel. Rafts did not take on water, but they were not particularly stable, and the sail was not very easily controlled. Who ever made this had a loose grasp on raft making. Keira had to give them credit, though, it was much better than she could do. Without an abundance of spare parts laying around, this really was the absolute best she had.

And she would take it, in due time.

Navigating the island became difficult after that—she was blocked by an smooth wall of solid rock, it had been assailed by the sea for many years before the waves had stilled, bringing sand with them, forming the little pocket of vegetation. She looked towards the water. Growing up in Sandover she had learned to avoid swimming when it was possible. Large, open bodies of water gave her the knee-jerk reaction of 'shark.' But it looked shallow enough for her to risk it. She rolled up her pants until they were just above her knee instead of below, and sloshed out into the water.

The fish swam away from her. They were wily and would not be caught by luck alone. She did manage to get a good look around the corner of the wall. The edge jutted up and plunged down—the water was deep enough that her gut screamed, 'sharks!' again. She turned back, and walked back to the raft.

Her wet clothes had begun to annoy her.

No one was around, right?

She peeled off her shirt, and then her pants—the heavy cotton fabric would take a day to dry—and climbed up the wooden watch tower. There was a zip line leading across the area—a faster way of travel than the bridge below. She slung her discarded clothes over the zip line and climbed down again. Her under clothes were damp, but they were better than nothing.

She tried not to think about what anyone would say.

She got as high as she could on that rock wall, and she found a tunnel, which lead her all the way back to where she had started—she could see her boots where she left them on the beach. Carefully, she dropped down onto the flat rock below, and continued to look around. Despite all of the construction, the entire island did not look like an actual home—it was all style and no substance—it was more of a large club-house.

That implied that there was somewhere else people were coming from.

Perhaps she _should _put her clothes back on...

But they were too _wet_ for that.

She made her way back to the cave she had found herself in. Now that it was lighter, she could see things more clearly. The rocks had been drawn on; nothing with any apparent meaning, just doodles and things, like the kind children would draw.

She should _really_ put her clothes back on.

But she thought of the wet denim and she shuddered.

She took a drink from the pool, and it was the purest water she had ever tasted. It reminded her of that one time she had followed the river in the forbidden jungle all the way to its source with Jak. It was too inconvenient to go more than once—too dangerous—but they had been berry picking and had gotten side tracked, and—

"Whose boots are these?"

By the Precursors, not _now!_

"Probably hers." a second voice replied.

Keira froze—she had no idea what to do. Here she was, half naked, and there were strangers walking right up to her.

"Hey!" the first voice called, and soon there was the sound of running feet in sand. Keira dove into the nearest foliage to hide. The nearest foliage, however, was completely inadequate, and did not help much. Kiera crouched down and covered her chest with her arms, and hoped they dismissed her as a hallucination.

Not a chance.

Both of them cornered her, and the girl in the yellow dress crouched down to get a better look at her. She had a rounded face, with pretty green eyes and brown hair that flipped up neatly. The second girl also had dark hair, though hers was much more red, and she wore a pink dress with about five too many zippers—though some of them may have been just for decoration. This second one, Keira could not see very clearly because of the sun's angle.

And, she noticed, their ears were strangely... short.

Did they even _have_ ears?

"Who are you?"

"K-keira." She answered.

"I'm Selphie." The green-eyed girl replied. Her voice was high-pitched and nasal, but sweet. She reached up for the tip of Keira's long ear, but took her hand back before she touched it. She realized how rude it would be. She straightened up, and her face was obscured by the clash of sun and shadow.

The other girl knelt down now, "I'm Kairi." She said, her voice was much smoother, much more conventional. Her eyes were blue, and her red hair hung flat. She scooted back a bit, to give Keira room to stand, room Keira did not take. "Why don't you come on out of there?"

"I'm in my underwear."

"I'm sure the trees don't mind." Kairi replied, "They've seen Wakka naked you can't be much worse."

Selphie giggled. Keira did not know Wakka personally, so she had no idea what Kairi's point really was. She shook her head. Kairi frowned and put a hand on her hip. Eventually, she asked, "Titus and Wakka are one hundred percent not coming, right?"

"What part of 'blitzball boot camp with impromptu card tourney' do you not understand?"

They held a glance for a moment. Then shrugged and removed their dresses, Selphie fiddling with buttons and Kairi unzipping the zipper on the left side of her dress. They folded their clothes up neatly and looked expectantly at Keira.

"What if someone else comes?" she asked.

Selphie shrugged again, dropped her dress down beside Keira, and said, "Anyway, the cave drawings."

"Right!" Kairi replied. She set her dress down and followed her, "Right, of course."

They disappeared down the tunnel, and everything was silent until Keira heard a giggle and the words, "Still don't know what that door does."

"Me neither."

Curious, she crawled out of hiding and followed the two girls down the tunnel into the cave. They were sitting down in the sand and pointing out the drawings to each other, "You remember that one."

"Yes but I don't remember what I was _thinking_."

"Oh _you_."

They laughed for a while, and then Kairi pointed towards one that was very close to the door, "I remember looking at that one, and when we drew each other." She said. She scooted closer to it, and continued, "I don't remember his face—not really. But at least I can remember he can't draw."

Selphie moved closer, too, "No. No he can't. Riku was the artist."

Keira stood behind them and looked at the drawing. Two people had obviously drawn it. The 'he' in question must have drawn the sloppy-looking girl and the arm handing the star to her. Kairi—Keira assumed it was Kairi—must have drawn the much neater-looking boy.

Kairi rested her chin on her hands, and said, "Why did we all forget Sora?"

"How could you forget someone?" Keira asked.

"We don't know." Selphie replied, "We just did. We figure it's been about a year—we just remembered him last week."

"Does that sort of thing happen _often_ around here?"

They looked at each other, then they looked at her. Kairi spoke first "Not exactly that, but we have our fair share of weird. Actually, _you're_ one of the weirder things. How did you get here?"

Keira had no genuine answer, "I just sort of found myself here."

"Yeah, so did _Kairi."_ Selphie said, and she did not give Keira a chance to ask for clarification, "What happened before you got here?"

"My home, Haven City, was attacked by the creatures—black shadows with yellow eyes."

"Ah." Kairi nodded, an understanding smile on her face, "Those are called the Heartless. And they took this place before Sora vanished—and my home before that, too."

"Does everyone whose world gets taken end up here?"

"No, there are other worlds—and some people just vanish. You and I are the lucky ones. You must be someone special."

"Suppose he just vanished, too?" Keira sat down in the sand, her knees bent and her feet to her right side. She cupped her ankles in her right hand and leaned on her left. The three girls were seated in a circle in the cool, dark cave, which filled with the roar of the waves, like it was breathing.

"No." Kairi shook her head, "No, not Sora. He's special, too. He's—" she stopped, reached for Keira's hand, and said, "Tell us your story, Keira."

"Do you want me to start with Heartless or—"

"It will take _hours_ for your clothes to dry." Selphie replied, "Tell us everything. Start at the very beginning."

"But that was so long ago."

"You're only, what, sixteen? I'm fifteen, that's not too long. Your story can't be much longer than mine, or Riku's."

Keira quipped, "My story starts one thousand and fifty years ago—"

"What."

"You asked for the whole story." She replied, curtly, and the whole story was what she told them. Starting with Sandover Village, and every single inhabitant, saving the best, saving _Jak_ for last, for this was as much his story as hers, and as much Daxter's story as it was his. She told them about his smile, how his laugh was so rich, despite the fact that he did not have a voice, how his eyes were so expressive and so blue, and how every bit of him was seeped in emotion. How much she loved him, and how much he must have loved her, and how close he and Daxter were. Selphie practically swooned. She stretched out in the sand, chin propped on her hands. Kairi smiled shamelessly, her knees tucked to her chest. Keira painted the portrait of her paradise, from the hut her father lived in, to the vast, intricate citadel of Gol and Maia Acheron, who lived far, far to the North.

She told them, then, of the Precursors, and the structures under the earth, the treasures that could be found, and about the eco—though she had a bit of trouble explaining that—and about the orbs and the power cells, and anything else she could think of to tell them. She wove everything together tightly, tight enough, and perfect enough, to hold the rest of the tale.

Because then it was time for them to learn how it was all lost.

She started with the forbidden trip to Misty Island, how the Dark Eco transformed Daxter into an Ostelle, and traveling their small part of the world to find Gol and Maia Acheron, and arriving—completely by dumb luck—just in time to stop their terrible plans from succeeding. How, during that time, she would not see him for days on end, and she just had to go on faith that he was alive.

And when that story was done, she began the next.

She told them of how they were pushed through the rift while everyone they had ever known was slaughtered behind them, then, she told them about arriving in Haven City, falling into the waters of the port, how she knew, not from the metal buildings, the zoomers flying over head, but by the murky, toxic water that she had come to a new land, and how lost she had been. She told them about the wall, and what lay beyond; the metal heads, the forest, the mountain, but mostly the wasteland; the vast, sprawling sea of sand, and about Erol, how kind he had been to her, setting her on her feet again, giving her a bed to sleep in, food to eat, promising to find Jak for her, to protect her from a new world that frightened her, and asking only for the occasional tune-up for his racing zoomer. It was no paradise, but it was what she had; hope and promises.

And, once again, it was torn down.

While she told this story; her best friend, the boy she had been desperate to find again, was a face on a wanted poster she did not recognize, the single weapon against an invasion she had not known was just about to start, a bitter, harsh voice behind a green curtain she had never head before; a prisoner Erol had kept hidden from her. She found her emotions had begun to bubble very near the surface. This had all been quite recent. After she had found Jak and Daxter again, the time had flown by, and every day had been filled with an indirect jab at her. For two years, she had sat back and done nothing to find him. She had swallowed each and every one of Erol's lies like they were sweets. Jak had become so cold. He was like ice on the outside, with a fierce, burning rage inside, he was still so lost, and she had only just managed to bring him back to something that could be considered normal.

Keira had managed to bring herself to tears. She had so many reasons too. She was found, but every place she had ever known, and everyone she had ever loved was gone, and this was the second time such a misfortune had come to her. Kairi and Selphie were kind enough to let her sob between them. The three had moved from the shelter of the cave to the little island. All three were sitting on the leaning tree, Kairi closest the water, Selphie closest to the land.

"Oh, Keira!" Selphie exclaimed when she tripped over the words. She rubbed her back, "Keira, it's not all lost."

"You said you had a dream about standing in a void, on a glass pillar?"

"Yes."

"Are you said you called a friend, Tess—and she said she had the same dream, but unlike you, she passed the dreams' test. Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Then she, at the very least, might have survived, too. That weapon was called a Keyblade. It is the only thing that can truly defeat the Heartless—It protected Sora from the darkness, it might have done the same for her."

Without any prompting, Kairi launched into her _own_ tale, and hers was a great deal more fantastic than Keira's, and traveling in the exact opposite direction. She started in a large city, which she could only remember bits and pieces of. Namely, she could remember a library, and her grandmother, and she could recall the presence, but not the name or face, of a playmate. And she remembered one chilling detail: missing person posters. They had been scattered everywhere in the last few days. Even that playmate of hers had gone—or so she recalled.

And then, just "like a bandage being ripped off" she said, that world was all gone, and she just had Destiny Islands, and Selphie, Wakka, Titus, and Riku, and finally, Sora, the boy she had forgotten. For ten years, the Islands were her home, until, just like that city had been, it was lost to her when the Heartless came. She, Sora and Riku were the only "Survivors" from that. The rest were lost in the darkness—Selphie took the time to inform Keira that she had no memories whatsoever of being lost in the dark, to which Kairi replied that everything was restored to exactly the way it was left when Sora defeated Ansem.

She explained that the witch Maleficent was controlling the Heartless, and it was she who found Riku and welcomed him into the fold of evil, also, it was she who located her body. She was in a coma at the time, because she had locked her heart away inside Sora's.

"Back up." Selphie shook her head, "What now?"

Kairi tried again.

She told them about the seven princesses of heart, which were vital to opening the door to darkness, which was where Kingdom Hearts—the heart of all worlds—was hidden, and she was one of them. She then told them that she was _not_ particularly good at telling stories, and so Selphie could be quiet and let her do her best.

She started at the beginning again, this time addressing every little detail she could. It was much clearer this time.

Sort of.

Keira at least understood enough to smile and nod, and she knew the basic gist of the story. Riku had disappeared when Ansem, who had caused all of this trouble, possessed him, and was subsequently defeated just before opening Kingdom Hearts. Riku, and a talking mouse named King Mickey—who was a friend of two traveling companions of Sora's, a duck named Donald and a dog named Goofy, both of whom could talk and Keira did not find that strange at all—were locked inside Kingdom Hearts. Kairi had returned to the islands (or, rather, the islands had returned to Kairi) and Sora went to look for Riku.

Neither one had been seen again.

And about a month and a half after the island's return, Kairi, and everyone else, had forgotten Sora completely, but not Riku, only to gradually remember him, piece by piece. But she could not remember his face. She looked at a photograph of him, and he still looked like a complete stranger.

When she finished her tale—Selphie had no such grand stories—the three sat on the tree and watched the waves roll in. It seemed to Keira that these islands were just meant for people who waited. A kind of limbo.

* * *

><p>Averted the five chapter curse, but barely started chapter six.<p> 


	7. Chapter 6

Taking orders from Nobody.

(Disclaimed.)

It's come to my attention that Keira and Daxter will ultimately run out of things to do.

I don't know if I'll do their chapters every other set to spread out the narrative, or just strait up have them sitting around TWTNW with a kidnapped Kairi going, "We know, like, FIVE heroes between us. WHERE IS THE RESCUE PARTY?!"

* * *

><p>Chapter six:<p>

"He's dangerous."

Yuffie was hardly listening, "Yes, I know."

Leon was actually talking to himself. "He's just a kid."

"Yes, Squall, I know that, too."

Leon glanced at her. She was tinkering with Jak's gun. She was not supposed to. She knew she was not supposed to. Jak would be upset if she did it again, and that was the last thing Leon wanted. An emotionally unstable Jak was probably a _physically_ unstable Jak. He tugged off his glove, looked at the wicked-looking scar on his hand. Normal wounds from _normal_ thunder looked like branching lightning bolts. This was _not_ normal. This had a tinge to it, a dark purple color, like a bruise. His entire arm ached, from his palm to his elbow, a dull burning throb that seemed to go down to the bone. He could hardly move his fingers.

He did not know what to think.

He did not want to trust Jak, but he did not want to _dis_trust him, either. He was only a boy—just a little older than Sora. He was crass, could turn in to a monster at the drop of a hat, but he was clearly not evil. Still, Leon looked at the mark on his hand from where that _stuff_ had burned him and he could think of at least one reason not to trust him at all.

"What if it happens again?"

"What if what happens again?"

Leon did not answer. It did not matter what anyone said, what excuses they fed themselves, what logic they cooked up to assure everyone else, assure _him,_ that Jak was stable, in control of _it_ and safe, whenever Leon looked at him all he could see was that _monster._ He had seen it better than the others. He had been closer. Too close. All he saw had been just a flash as Cid's light had swept past, but it was enough. When it had settled, he could hardly believe it, that clawed, horned, gray-skinned, black eyed _monster_ had become normal_. _He wanted to disbelieve his eyes, say it was a trick of the light, nothing more, but then he saw the torn cuticles, the ripped skin under his hair and the hidden horns. He could not disregard the bad wound on his hand.

What if it happened again and he was not around to keep everyone safe?

He wished he had not seen it. He wished he could just dismiss it like Yuffie and Cid did, ignore it, like Cloud, look past it like Aerith, because he _knew_ the reality of the situation. He knew it objectively. Standing between the world and that monster was a mostly decent, reasonably cooperative, blond teen that did not want to hurt anyone and just wanted to find his friend again.

There was a story there. A story Leon did not know—and he did not want to know because it had to be horrible, but he still _needed_ to know, because if they knew what triggered him, they could move any potential triggers very far away. He massaged his injured palm. Pressure and touch hurt.

He had to know.

But he did not _want_ to ask because Jak was—what? What was he, fifteen? Seventeen? A bad past like that—it had to be traumatic. No one just _took_ turning into a gray-skinned, horned, lightning-flinging demon in stride. And if Jak _had_ taken it in stride, then the 'Dark Eco' was not the issue, he was simply insane.

Leon did not want to think that, either.

Mostly because Merlin just handed Jak a fire element and stepped back cautiously.

"Now, my boy, remember. A very strong emotion. The strongest ones you have."

Jak looked reluctant.

"Just try it." Aerith urged. Leon barely heard it through the glass and he had to depend on lip reading.

He heard Jak huff, then say, like a child that did not want to do as he was told, "Fire—" _FWOOSH "_Woah!"

A beautiful ring of fire spread out around him. Jak jumped, turned, face following the main body, a free-floating ball of flame and magic, eyes wide with wonder. Then his face changed. Merlin had told him a very strong emotion. It did not take him long to find it. It was like he latched onto the most violent and rage-filled memory he had, clutched it in an iron fist. Leon felt a chill. Jak spread his arms wide, palms out, and shouted much louder this time, "_Fire_!"

Leon jumped. Yuffie's looked at the window just in time to see a few flickering tongues of flames. Aerith and Merlin threw themselves backwards. Aerith recovered much more quickly than the old man did. A wave of fire burst from his hands. It traveled about a yard, singed Merlin's beard and shook the glass with a shock wave. It was so powerful Leon felt a little residual heat warm the window. Jak was delighted with himself. Leon had never thought he would see him smile so brightly. But it was not just the smile. It was a pleased little bounce, like a boxer in the ring, ready to move, and for the first time since he arrived, the boy actually _looked _like he was seventeen.

Then he saw Leon.

He stopped smiling.

Merlin snatched the fire element away from him. Jak jumped, the magic smile gone. He was nervous again. Maybe it was Leon—did he look scary? Certainly he was not afraid of _Merlin. _Who could be afraid of a sagely old man like Merlin? He shook his head, his long beard wagging as he gave Jak a quick, firm lecture about responsibility. Jak shrunk away. Aerith laid a gentle hand on his back, gave him a pat. Merlin took a different element, put it in Jak's hand, then backed away _(much_ further this time) and pointed at a target.

Jak looked at the element. It was the size of a marble, easily held in hand, glowing just a bit in the light. He closed his fingers around it reached out his hand, fingers outstretched, and focused his attention on the target. There was a loud crack, a flash of light. The Styrofoam block exploded, the edges black and scorched. Jak looked at his hand, wiggled his fingers as little sparks danced between the tips, and smiled again.

It was good to know, he supposed, that despite the clearly bad things he had been through, that Jak was just a teenager after all. Probably had a bunch of other, normal teenager problems to deal with on top of a bad and traumatic past. Poor kid. That might be Sora in a couple of years.

He hoped that was not Sora in a couple of years.

He turned away from the window. He was curious.

He did not _want_ to be curious.

He did not know _why_ he was curious.

"What are you doing?" Yuffie asked from the new table.

"I'm curious."

He had never been curious with anyone else—although, there had only been Sora before this, and there was no reason to be curious with Sora. Sora was an open book and told Leon everything, even things he had never wanted to hear. He opened the front door. Aerith saw him at once, from her seat on a white patio chair. She must have seen he wanted to talk.

She did not _want_ him to talk. She stood up, squared off against him (with the highest degree of subtlety). She fixed him with a glare, and shook her head, slightly, before saying, "We're teaching him magic."

"So I saw." he tried to step around her.

She stepped in front of him. "He's quite good."

That was not the message she was trying to convey.

She really did not want him to talk to Jak. She was using her special voice. A tense thing only she was capable of, alerting everyone to the elephant in the room without standing up, pointing and exclaiming, _oh my. Look. An elephant._ Jak stopped smiling again, dropped his hand to his side and looked Leon over, his eyes flickering to Aerith. He was clearly nervous. They must have spoken. Leon looked back to her. She was subtly frowning—not really an expression in her mouth, but in her eyes.

Leon wished, he really wished, he could be truculent and dismissive to Aerith. The ability would come in handy for times like this. Leon tried to fake small talk, "I saw that fire spell—what was behind that?"

Aerith opened her mouth to speak. Jak, it seemed, was dead set on digging himself a grave, "Anger."

"Well that's normal." Aerith assured him. Her question was fixed _directly_ at Leon, "Isn't it?"

"Sure. I guess maybe thunder is excitement or anticipation or—?"

"No." Jak shrugged, "That was anger too."

Aerith pressed her lips together in a thin, upset line. She was clearly trying to help Jak curry favor and trust. Jak was either not catching on, or he was determined to fail.

"Everything is anger, isn't it?"

Jak might be _trying_ to fail for some reason. That, or he did not seem to realize Leon did not trust him in the slightest. Or perhaps he did, he just did not care. Perhaps he was trying to get thrown out. "Yes."

"That..." Leon could hardly believe it, "That's not healthy."

Seized by something, Aerith turned around abruptly and hooked her fingers around a macrame cord around her neck, face filled with softly chiseled determination, eyes flashing. She took the cure element from around her neck and grabbed a hold of Jak's wrist, twisting the cord around his arm, so the small green crystal sphere dangled in its knotted cage near his little finger.

Jak stared at it, "Which one is this?"

"Cure." she told him bluntly. "You must find find a happy memory for a cure spell to work. Anger will not heal anything."

Jak was quite for a moment. He stared at it, thinking. A few subtle changes came over him as the thought. Leon saw the beginnings of that brilliant smile he had seen before, but then it stopped, fell abruptly, and was replaced with something horrible and sinister. Then he grew angry, and Leon worried he was a hair away from shouting at Aerith or attacking her. Then he shrugged, let it go with a bitter, sarcastic laugh, and unwrapped the cord from his wrist, "Well, you'd better take this back then. I don't have any happy memories."

"Jak, that's not true." He glared at her. Her gentle tones would not work with him. She took a step back, "Y-you must have _something_ happy, maybe your young childhood, a memory of a friend, a mother—You... Really don't have anything?"

He considered it. Leon was positive he saw something that vaguely resembled happiness. Jak hid it away quickly, like an angsty teenager hiding dirty magazines from a longtime friend. He was determined to be seen as the tragic anti-hero. "Memories don't work like that. One thing connects to another and they all lead somewhere..." he looked for a different word, "Painful."

He meant it.

Aerith's eyelashes fluttered, her mouth moved like she was going to say something, but she did not. She looked from Jak's face to the Cure Element dangling from his fingers on its cord. She would not be outfoxed. The lesson she intended for him to learn, the point she was trying to prove, _would_ be adhered to. She picked it up, wrapped it around his hand again and Jak grumbled something and put up a front of trying to pull away. He wanted to learn it, too. Leon glanced down at his injured hand. Aerith would be a lot more content if she did not see it. He just wanted to make sure the marks were covered, and they were.

Jak must have seen it. Perhaps he had some kind of innate sense of Dark Eco. He took a step forward. "Let me see that."

Leon did not want to touch him. He took a step back, "No, no it's fine."

"I _need_ to see that." Jak nearly shouted. He grabbed Leon's wrist and jerked it between then, turned his palm up and shoved the long sleeve he had worn to hide it back, revealing the full extent of the injury, and the dark lines that extended halfway up his forearm. Leon was used to the sight already. What interested him where the boys hands. There were scars from where his nails had split the cuticles and skin behind them (but he had seen those before). The daylight let new details surface, his nails were weaken by constant growth and shrinking. They did not adhere to the nail bed very well. The slightest pressure could be used to tug them out.

And the veins. Jak had his sleeves rolled back to his elbows, Leon could clearly see his veins. The bulging kind that came with physical labor, body building—they were not unusual. He could also see the pattern of blue lines that came with fair complexion. Jak's had a dark tinge to his. Almost black. So long as those veins were black, Leon supposed, that monster could always return.

Jak raised his free hand over his palm. Leon felt a tug. Jak gritted his teeth, closed his eyes with the effort. The tug grew a little stronger. It was deep. Down to the marrow. But it did not last long. Half a second, then there was a dizzying rush and the dark purple color drained from the scars, where it pooled in his palm. He felt like there were many pins beneath the skin, pushing out, trying to get to Jak's hand.

Leon wanted to ask if he had done this before, but he did not dare break his concentration. All of the dark eco jumped out rushed into Jak's palm. He cringed, pulled back quickly. Leon saw a quick change go trough him. As the boy's eyelids fluttered in pain, Leon noticed they were not blue and white anymore. They were solid black. Just for a second. Less than a heartbeat. Then they were blue again.

That was unsettling. He stepped back, tested his palm and fingers. No pain. Nothing. He was fine. He need to get to the bottom of this. "Jak. I need to speak with—"

Aerith coughed. It was fake. Jak noticed.

"_Aerith_." Leon lied, "For a moment."

Jak glanced to her, then gave Merlin a wary glance. Leon wondered how he could _not _trust the old man, but it was clearly written on his face. He did not want Aerith to leave his side. Aerith might not have noticed, but that was very... _un-Aerith. _She must have noticed. She placed a hand on Jak's shoulder, smiled broadly, and said, "Happy memories, okay?"

Jak surrendered, brushed her off. "_Fine._"

The two of them walked to the wall near by. They did not speak a word until they reached that secluded destination. She sat down on the thin, knee-high rail overlooking the stairs. Leon remained standing. She smoothed out her skirt and did not bother asking Leon what he wanted. She knew he would say it.

He said it, "Has he told you anything?"

Aerith had a slippery, sly gaze that never gave anything away. "A few things, yes."

"You don't look too pleased."

Of course, Aerith was never one for gossip and petty talk. She looked at him for a second, then looked away, "I'm not proud of how I got it. Looking back on it it felt like extortion. He clearly wanted to hide it. I shouldn't have asked. I shouldn't say anything. I shouldn't tell you."

"What things?"

"We should just pretend we never saw what we saw. I should just pretend I never heard what I did." She started nervously fiddling with her hair. Leon wondered if it was because she was fibbing, or because she had sworn secrecy. He knew Jak had not threatened her. Aerith would have said that up front, "When Sora comes around again we should make up something _happier _and pray he never asks Jak anything."

"Aerith, I can't ignore it."

She looked up at him, "You're going to ask him yourself if I don't tell you?"

"I saw it better than you did. I don't want to see that monster again. If I know what's behind it—"

She turned her doe-eyed stare up to max power. Leon winced. She said it like Jak was some mangy dog he had just threatened to put down. "I don't think you'll like what you find."

"What do you mean? What has he told you?"

"Enough. I read between the lines.

"But what did he _say_?"

Aerith was bothered now, "Why does it matter?"

"Because he's a monster—"

"Don't say it like that. It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that."

Aerith averted her gaze. She knew it was like that, "Fine. But don't say it. It's mean."

"Think of a better word and I'll use it." She averted her gaze the other direction. Leon folded his arms. He was not worth of her gaze anymore, apparently, "Maybe he just won't tell you things?" he asked.

"He'll tell me things."

"Aerith—"

"Everyone tells me things." she assured him, softly, and then she insisted, "Leon, don't pry. Don't make him tell the story again. You're impossible to talk too."

"If he can transform into that..." he felt terrible saying it, but he really did not know what else to call it. _"Monster_ again."

"I told you not to say it like that!"

"I told you to think of a better word."

"He's a child."

"Yes I know, but—"

She delivered an ultimatum. "If you ask him—you'll have to tell him about Rinoa."

There was a long pause.

"What? Why the hell would I do that?"

"Oh!" Aerith's eyes darted around. She had talked herself into a corner, "I—um. I might have told him about Kairi."

"What!?"

"And Zack. And Lea. And Isa." she had lost ground and she struggled to recover. "But not Rinoa!"

"Why did you do _that_?!"

She got careless. She slipped down another twenty feet. "That's what made him open up!"

"Missing teenagers?" Leon did not wait for her to answer—she did not answer anyway. "Was he kidnapped?"

Aerith kept her lips locked. She was falling down with the avalanche but she was still tethered to base camp. Leon waited. He was watching her dangle from a rope and she was refusing to let him pull her back up. She could convey a thousand sentiments with the blink of an eye but she crumbled when real, raw emotions came into play. Empathy was funny like that.

"You do realize that you might as well tell me yourself? Because I will ask."

"Why? What does it matter?"

"Because he can turn into a monster and I need to know how to keep it in check."

"It's fine." She stood up. This was beyond stubborn. This was over-protective. Leon took a step back. He supposed Aerith was capable of seeing the teenager a little better than he could, and she was determined that this place would be different. Hollow Bastion would not be a place that chewed him up and spit him out. "It won't happen again. He needs Dark Eco and that isn't in Hollow Bastion. You can relax. You can leave him be. If you ask now you'll just be bullying him."

"You think I'm a bully?"

She looked a bit ashamed now, "... no."

Metaphorically, Leon reached down for the rope. He watched Aerith swing there, eyes on her boots as she clutched it. "So tell me."

She sighed, frowned a little, then said, "He said that when he was fifteen he was taken off the street and put in an experimental program that injected him with Dark Eco. But he kept quiet, defensive, until I told him Kairi was alive, just not in Hollow Bastion."

"Did you tell him where she was?"

"Of course I told him. I had to. I was just as curious as you are."

Leon could have laughed if it was not so serious, "Did he tell you more?"

"Yes. Much more. The Dark Warrior Program—that was what he called it—was meant to create super soldiers. The experiments failed—except for Jak. He was the only survivor."

"To fight Heartless?"

"No. No he called them Metal heads. He was only fifteen." She paused, let that sink in. "He was Sora's age. He knows why it worked. He was good at channeling Eco. It's why is so adept at magic—but he does not know how _they_ knew about him."

"Fifteen?" Leon echoed, "He's not fifteen now."

"No. He's not." Aerith shook her head.

"Were they all kids?"

"No. The rest were criminals."

Leon did not like where this was going.

"It's not how you think." Aerith told him, "Yes, there were inmates that were cruel to him, but there were others that were kind to him, kept him safe from the worst ones. But good or bad, they all started getting weaker, dying off. He... spared me he details. But you've seen what it does... the m—" she caught herself, "—way it effects him. It is a gruesome way to go. He was angry, there was nothing he could do. Sometimes he was glad they were dying, they were either cruel to him, or they could escape the madness, the pain would end soon. Then, he was afraid. He'd seen them all go, until he was the last one, faced with the possibility of dying alone. Like I said. It's not a pretty story."

Leon was glad he had not asked Jak. No one should be forced to tell that story twice. He could hardly believe Aerith had managed to stomach it. Sometimes, she was made from harder stuff than he was.

"What troubles me—He started to tell me about _someone _involved with the program. He said he was a government liaison, a supervisor with out any scientific background, but then he stopped, clammed up. He refused to tell me anymore after that." She glanced back to where Jak practiced his magic with Merlin. Nothing had happened for a while. Leon wondered if the boy was getting another lecture or if he was taking a break. "Everything else he surrendered freely, but it was like he was describing the plot of a novel. Objective and distant. He's come to terms with what was done. I don't think he's made his peace with it."

Leon crossed his arms, leaned back on the chain link fence and closed his eyes.

He was not curious anymore.

Of course, now he felt _obligated_ to know. He had started it, now he was going to see it through to the end. That was silly. He was not _obligated_ to know. If Jak wanted to keep his mouth shut about it, that was his business. Aerith was right. It was wrong to make someone live their worst moments over and over again just because he wanted to hear it, recovery be damned. Let it go. Leon did not have to know anything about it. He could have gone his entire life not knowing the back story. It had not made him feel any better about anything. He simply need to know that the monster was under control.


End file.
